


I Turn To Wax (And Melt Like This)

by WalkOnThroughARedParade



Series: Break My Knuckles (Feel Them Crack) [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (mostly), Chapter warnings to come for specific issues, Constant pining, Future Canon AU, M/M, Tommen POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkOnThroughARedParade/pseuds/WalkOnThroughARedParade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><i>'I found you in pieces, you'd been torn apart,</i><br/><i>A million one reasons to end before you start,</i><br/><i>But deep down I knew</i><br/><i>No matter what in the end, it'd be me and you.'</i><br/>- <i>BTSK</i> - MS MR </p>
</div>'Rickon Stark, the messenger had said.<br/>Rickon Stark had called the North to rebel, and march on King's Landing.'
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The news had come on the first bright day in almost three years; the first day without rain, or flurries of slush that never settled long enough to be called snow.

The first clear, bright day since Tommen had last seen his sister, and it had suddenly become overcast with news brought from the north.

Wildlings were moving; the thick snow parted before an army; the North was rising yet again.

Rickon Stark, the messenger had said.

Rickon Stark had called the North to rebel, and march on Kings Landing.

-

Of all his changes since taking the throne, the one he was most proud of - and which had lead to a great many of his other changes - was how he'd reformed the Small Council. For all his shortcomings, Tywin Lannister had been right in stating that the King needed to sit on the Council, to hear what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms, in his city, and discuss how to fix the problems with which he was presented. Tommen had dismissed all of his mother's Councilmen the moment he'd been declared old enough to rule for himself rather than rely on his Uncle to act in his stead, and had searched out men who actually knew about the things they were named ‘Master’ of. Tommen’s Master of Ships had served on one for thirty years; as a Captain for fifteen of them, and then as head of a trading company for ten. His Master of Coin had worked for the Iron Bank for twenty five years, had by all accounts been exemplary at his job before deciding he missed home and returning to Westeros. Tommen had hand-picked all of them, chosen men of low birth who’d both be bluntly honest with him and be grateful enough for their rise in standing that they’d not take their positions for granted, or abuse their newfound power.

He’d had to deal with petitioner after petitioner, lord after lord declaring they were better suited for the jobs, that the Small Council was no place for common folk; and it had taken over a week for Tommen to get tired of explaining that the Small Council was _exactly_ the place for common people and close the subject, refusing to hear any more complaints.

He was proud of his Council; he trusted them.

They were of no help to him with the news of Rickon, however.

“I thought all the Stark boys were dead?” Tommen’s Commander of the City Watch couldn’t seem to keep from frowning at the letter open on the table before them, looking back at it every thirty seconds so severely part of Tommen entertained the idea the parchment would burst into flames soon. The man sat to his right, the Master of Ships - he and the Commander had been friends for years and worked well together in organising goods being moved from the docks to other parts of the city - grumbled half under his breath, words muffled slightly by his thick beard.

“Aye, they were said to be; all seven kingdoms know what happened to Robb Stark, Gods rest his soul. But the only word of the younger boys was from that Bolton bastard, Ramsay Snow.” Tommen spoke up absently, watching the parchment as it was passed around the table.

“Bolton. His father recognised him, so he’s Ramsay Bolton, not Snow. It makes him no less of a monster, but still.” The old sailor snorted and tossed the letter into the middle of the table.

“Forgive an old man, your Grace, but it makes no difference what the bastard calls himself. Can anyone really trust his word when he claims the Stark boys to be dead? I’d wager he just wants to keep the North for himself, have anyone who claims to be young Bran or Rickon dubbed pretender and their claim ignored.” There was a gruff sound of agreement from each of the men sitting around the table, and Tommen sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“This isn’t about Ramsay, or what worth we can put on his word. Whether we believe him or not I am going to meet this person who claims to be Rickon, and I have called you here to ask your advice on how such a meeting should be handled.” He looked at each of his council members in turn, and then sighed, glancing back at the member of the Kingsguard stood behind him.

“Loras?” The man looked back at him, before speaking sharply, something in his expression anticipating what Tommen’s reaction to his advice would be.

“Take an army with you. Meet him on an open field, demand he stop his rebellion, and if he refuses to leave use force to stop them.” Tommen turned away from him immediately and slumped back in his chair, eyes sliding shut.

“I will not do that. If this _is_ Rickon, if he's alive, then I owe him better than demands shouted across a battlefield. My family murdered both of his parents and his eldest brother; they tried to control his eldest sister by marrying her to my uncle, and drove the younger across the Narrow Sea. I won't turn around and act like his anger isn't justified; it is. He has every right to be this angry, to want every Lannister from the Salt Shore to the Wall dead. I won't meet him with an army; I won't fight him. Not unless he threatens the general peace of the Seven Kingdoms.” The protest was soft, and came from his Master of Whisperers - though Mistress was a more apt term, for the one holding that title was a woman, dark hair pulled back from her equally dark face.

Sarella Sand had been a surprising ally; but she was the same as the other members of the Small Council. She still worried.

“This is not like it was with Daenerys, Your Grace.”

Tommen smiled very briefly, the expression sarcastic, before sighing.

“You say that like I’m not fully aware of the fact. Nothing will ever be like it was with Daenerys.”

-

Tommen had ridden out to meet Daenerys Targaryan, Mother of Dragons, expecting to die.

He’d knelt at her feet and pleaded for the lives of his people, of his wife and her family, for the lives of every man woman and child in Westeros but for himself, and waited for her to order her dragons to kill him; to cook and eat him, or even just get it over with quickly, sink their wicked teeth into him so he was gone in an instant.

He’d never expected Dany to see something in him worth leaving alive, less so something that convinced her to leave him on her father’s throne, leave him to rule Westeros while she returned to Slaver’s Bay and her new-made kingdom there.

He still only half-believed it, sometimes; woke up sweating, worrying about the Dragon Queen across the Narrow Sea, worrying that one day she’d come. But come she had, and then she’d left.

And once a month he received a letter from her, and wrote her one in return.

And on the nights he woke up, forgetting that Daenerys trusted him, was fond of him, even, he only had to roll over and see the empty expanse of bedcovers beside him to remember.

Margaery had never once been as happy with him as she had been sat in Daenerys’ tent, speaking in whispers with the beautiful woman, ignorant to the way they’d inched closer to one another as they spoke.

Tommen would never begrudge her the happiness she’d found with Dany, nor the happiness she’d brought the last Targaryan. He was happy for them both, much as he’d grieved their loss immediately after they’d left.

Fifteen years old, and he’d lost a woman who was both his wife and dearest friend, and another who had been fast on her way to being just as dear to him. He'd never _loved_ either of them, not the way men generally loved women, but-

But they had been important to him, and he had missed them.

And the missing had led him to make all manner of small but painful mistakes.

-

The Small Council agreed to let him go with only a dozen guards.

More accurately, they had reluctantly agreed when Tommen had threatened to ride out alone if they continued to fight him on the subject, but either way he had their word they’d not send three thousand men riding after him, and he now needed to pack.

Which would have been much easier were a member of the Kingsguard not breathing down his neck.

“You know it’s unsettling when you stare like that.” He mostly muttered the words as he moved to shove a couple more clean shirts into one of his saddle bags, forcing them to the bottom so he could layer fresh breeches over them; but Loras just stepped closer, still watching him intently.

“I’m guarding you. It’s my job.” Tommen snorted and reached to retrieve his gloves from their place where they’d been thrown carelessly on the end of his bed as he’d searched for something else.

“You’ll have plenty of time to guard me while we ride to meet Rickon. Right now all you’re doing is staring.” Loras sighed audibly while Tommen continued to pack, edging slightly closer to his King yet again.

“You really think it’s Rickon? That he’s still alive?” Tommen paused, a roll of fur in hand, before frowning a little to himself.

“If someone was to pretend to be a Stark, the smarter option would be to pretend to be Robb; for all that what happened with the Freys is public knowledge, the only evidence anyone ever saw was a body with a wolf’s head sewn onto it. A pretender could always claim that he escaped, that the Freys pretended to have killed him to save face; claiming to be Rickon doesn’t make sense, if all he wants is Winterfell, or a crown.” He tied the fur down on top of his fresh clothes and turned to start the search for his spare parchment; but paused when Loras laid a hand on his hip, the touch intimate and making Tommen hold himself very still.

“Don’t do this.” Tommen didn’t reply, gaze distant, cold; and Loras took it as permission to lay his other hand on him, slipping his fingers under the untucked hem of his shirt.

“Don’t go so lightly guarded, Tommen. You don’t owe this person anything, least of all your life.” The King remained silent for a moment longer, during which Loras pushed his hand across Tommen’s skin, his palm cold and clammy, before he spoke quietly, tone deceptively calm.

“Take your hands off me.” Loras’ progress stilled, but instead of pulling away he pressed a little closer, speaking into Tommen’s ear.

“Tommen _please_.” The younger man gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from simply bolting from the room. He didn't have to run; and he wouldn't do this anymore.

“I told you to take your hands off me, Loras. I’m not going to sleep with you. Never again.” The knight slowly removed his hand from beneath Tommen’s shirt, but instead of pulling away just set it on his opposite hip, murmuring against the shell of his ear.

“I remember you singing a distinctly different tune when you were fifteen. And sixteen. And seventeen…” Tommen spoke up harshly, and stepped out of Loras’ hold, snatching up more supplies for his journey.

“When I was fifteen I was too busy grieving the loss of my wife, your _sister_ , to understand your seduction for what it was. I let you have sex with me because I was upset and young and naive, and for four years I let it _keep_ happening because I fooled myself into thinking you cared about me. I'm not eighteen any more Loras. I've been without you for four years; a new threat won't make me come crawling back.” The knight stared at him steadily; and after a moment of shoving more things into saddlebags Tommen sighed, bracing his hands on his desk and looking up at the other man.

“You are not allowed to be angry with me. It’s not like you’ve been pining for me the last four years, your list of lovers has almost exceeded Robert’s, and above all you are supposed to be my _friend_. Not just a man who guards me and who I once let into my bed. I'm not yours, you _know that_ , and if you would cease this sudden bout of childishness we could go back to acting like adults and being friends again.” The once Knight of Flowers stared for a moment more before he finally smirked; and Tommen rolled his eyes, throwing a balled up cloak at him.

“Go and make sure the horses are ready, and my escort is packed. I want to be able to leave within the hour.” Loras offered him a mocking little bow and a dutiful ‘Yes, Your Grace’; and Tommen’s smile only slipped when he’d left, door shut behind him.

He dropped heavily into a chair, and scrubbed his fingers over his scalp, trying to massage away the headache already building there.

He should have seen it coming, should have realised Loras would all of a sudden want him again when he thought him weak and needy; there was nothing Loras liked better than being _needed_.

Most of all, he should have decided to leave Loras behind, and take with him a different member of the Kingsguard.

But it was too late for that.

He would have to endure the Tyrell Knight, and suffer smacking away any wandering hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommen watched his steps carefully as he moved across the snow, testing the layer beneath his feet as he moved to make sure it would not give. It wasn’t fresh; from the solid feel of it underfoot, he guessed there’d not been a fresh layer of snowfall in over a week.

More proof winter was finally abating, thank the Gods.

He paused after a moment of searching the snow beneath his feet, dropping slowly into a crouch so he could examine the print in the snow just in front of him, and smiled a little upon recognising it.

“They’re here!” He called back to his guards, glancing back at them; and they collectively picked up the pace, Loras bringing up the rear.

He was trying to punish him, Tommen knew, for rejecting his advances, but in that moment he couldn’t make himself care. After searching the plain they’d agreed to meet upon for over two days, he finally had proof ‘Rickon’ would meet them; and he carefully traced the outline of the impossibly large wolf pawprint before him, following the ridges carefully so the track wouldn’t collapse.

Arguably against every instinct he should have had, he’d loved the Stark children’s Direwolves when he’d been a child. The bare handful of times he’d gotten the chance to play with Bran and Rickon when Robert had travelled to Winterfell to ask Ned Stark to be his Hand, before things had gone so horribly wrong, he’d been transfixed by the wolves, chased after them and even tried climbing after Bran before his mother had seen and stopped him.

Arya had once let him sit with Nymeria, watch her spar with Micah with the wolf resting her head in his lap. When he’d found out she was still alive, the first thing he’d done was search for the female Direwolf, tracking rumours of the large wolf pack plaguing the Riverlands, following larger tracks with the hope he’d be able to reunite the pair of them; another step toward making up for all the wrong his family had done to the Starks.

He’d know Direwolf tracks anywhere, and that was certainly what was before him.

Which meant that Rickon’s wolf, Shaggydog, was nearby. Meant it was definitely Rickon who had appeared, and not someone pretending to be him.

Tommen’s only warning was a shout from behind him, and the large shadow that fell across the snow in front of him.

He lifted his head slowly, remaining crouched so when he met the large golden eyes staring down at him he was in a submissive, non-threatening posture; and when the black Direwolf snarled at him softly he pulled off his gloves and raised his hands, holding them out for Shaggydog to smell, so he’d know he wasn’t a threat.

Tommen didn’t dare speak, didn’t even dare to tell his small escort to stay back, to not interfere; not until the Direwolf had decided whether or not he was a threat to him. Instead he just held his eyes, and when Shaggydog ducked his head to sniff at his fingers he swallowed, wondering whether he’d leave with all of them still attached to his hands.

Something wet touched his fingertips, and Tommen blinked in surprise when he realised Shaggydog was licking him, before smiling a little at the creature, wiggling his fingers so the Direwolf snorted and butted his snout against the palm of Tommen’s hand, demanding affection from him.

“Am I not a threat, then?” He asked softly, stroking Shaggydog’s muzzle gently before moving to scratch around his ears, scrubbing through the thick dark fur, but his only response was a pleased rumble from deep in the animal’s chest as he pushed into Tommen’s touch.

The grin that spread across Tommen’s face was entirely instinctive, and he scratched across the underside of Shaggydog’s jaw lightly.

“Could you even remember me a little, Shaggydog? Or am I just not very intimidating?” The Direwolf chuffed out a warm breath against his face, and he snorted softly at the sensation, smile widening slightly.

He was so engrossed in pushing his fingers through the Direwolf’s thick, dark fur, murmuring questions and compliments at him while he hummed under the petting, that Tommen missed the crunch of snow from behind him, the sound of a sword being pulled free from a sheath.

He only realised that one of his guards had crept up on him, was stood with his sword raised and ready to strike at Shaggydog, when the Direwolf snarled loudly, hackles rising as he bared his teeth at the man stood over Tommen.

He barely had time for his frustration to set in before he moved, tackling Shaggydog so the Direwolf rolled, yelping, out of the path of the sword headed for him, and Tomman twisted before he hit the snow, landing heavily on his back and lashing out with a foot to catch the offending guard’s ankle and yank him off his feet, so the sword wouldn’t then skewer him instead.

Tommen jumped to his feet, snatching the sword from his guard’s hand and offering the other man a frustrated look before he turned back to Shaggydog, holding up his free hand when he found the Direwolf snarling at the both of them. He carefully held the sword out to the side so that he could drop it onto the snow, out of reach of them both. Tommen opened his mouth to speak to the wolf, to try and soothe him; but he stopped himself as his eyes caught on something behind Shaggydog, on the crest of the hill behind the Direwolf.

“Ser Martyn, go back to the others.” The man on the ground behind Tommen immediately started to protest, but Tommen spoke over him, turning his head just enough to catch his eye.

“ _Go. Back. To the others_.” Tommen kept his voice sharp and watched Martyn, until he reluctantly pushed to his feet and turned to walk back to the other men; and only when he was an acceptable distance away did Tommen sigh, crouching to scoop up his gloves and tug them back on while Shaggydog calmed and edged closer. His head came all the way up to Tommen’s chest while he was standing, and he butted his head against him gently while Tommen watched the group of fur-clad people move closer, skipping over the snow like they’d been raised doing so.

Which they probably had, he reflected inwardly.

“Gods, let this go well.” He mumbled, running his hands through Shaggydog’s fur and mourning the loss of the true feel of it now he was wearing his gloves again while the Wildlings moved closer, sure-footed and with bows drawn.

The Direwolf edged away slightly when the Wildlings half-surrounded Tommen, swinging his large head to look at them all in turn and snarl softly. The noise softened a little when he faced one particular archer, who had a scarf pulled up over the lower half of his face and an arrow aimed for Tommen’s throat; and Tommen watched the man, keeping his eyes on the pale ones watching him back while the young woman leading the group spoke, voice thicker with a northern accent than he could remember even Ned Stark’s being.

“You’re the King of the South, aye? King...Joffrey, isn’t it?” Tommen didn’t look at her, speaking to the man his eyes were stuck on when he replied.

“Joffrey’s dead. He died almost thirteen years ago.” The woman seemed puzzled by the news, glancing at her companions; but Tommen kept speaking, watching as Shaggydog moved closer to the archer.

“Tywin’s dead too. And Kevan, his brother. And Uncle Jaime. Stannis is gone, and so is his wife, and the Priestess who advised him went back to Asshai when he was defeated. Walder Frey is dead, and so is Roose Bolton. Even Petyr Baelish is gone. They’re all dead, Rickon. If you’re looking for revenge you’ve come too late.” The group fell silent, all seemingly holding their breath; and then the archer, _Rickon_ , spoke, voice muffled from behind the scarf covering his face.

“And if I’m not content with that? If I want you dead, too?” He sounded like Robb, was all Tommen could think for a moment, remembering the eldest Stark boy.

After a moment longer, he ducked his head in a brief nod.

“If that’s what you want, fine. After everything my family did to yours I won’t deny you that. I’d only ask you let me write to Myrcella, so she can make arrangements to become Queen, and to Daenerys, so she doesn’t seek revenge of her own.” Rickon stared at him, as if he was waiting for the punchline, for Tommen to turn and run or start arguing.

When he didn’t and just met his eyes steadily, Rickon’s grip tightened on his bow, and Tommen braced himself; only for Shaggydog to whine quietly, pushing at Rickon’s chest with his snout.

Rickon frowned at the Direwolf, before slowly lowering his bow, and then yanking the scarf down off his face with a sigh.

He glared at Tommen, then at his wolf, and then back at Tommen again.

“Vidia and the others will show your men where we’re camped; I want to talk to you in private.” The youngest Stark boy turned and stormed off, his Direwolf practically jumping to stride along beside him.

Tommen only needed a moment to muster the courage to follow, letting out the breath he’d been holding without even realising it.

-

“Are my sisters alive?” The question startled Tommen, and he blinked at Rickon in surprise. They’d been just walking for a long time, had climbed a hill and now walked under bare trees, the sounds of Rickon’s camp just audible as they walked, but he’d not said anything up until that point.

It took Tommen a moment to really hear the question; and then he let out a breath, smiling briefly.

“Yes. Sansa is Lady of the Vale; a good one, too, it’s the most prosperous it’s apparently been in decades. She has three children; Trystane, the eldest boy, Kat, her daughter, and a younger boy, called Robb. He had his second name day just over a month ago, but you can already see he’s going to look more like Sansa than the others. Trystane and Kat are both blonde, like their father. Arya is across the Narrow Sea, with Daenerys. She’s- I suppose you could say she’s the head of Dany’s Queensguard, though she hasn’t taken any vows. She’s supposed to be better with a sword than anyone Daenerys has ever seen; and there are rumours she learnt from the Faceless Men, though I’d only trust her word on that.” Rickon nodded silently, continuing to walk; and Tommen watched him discreetly, playing with his gloves nervously.

“Are they happy?” The other man asked quietly, and for the first time he looked at Tommen, expression creased with a frown.

Tommen studied his face, drinking in his similarities with Robb, the red hair and pale eyes, studying the stubble on his cheeks and the scar that marked his jaw, a pale line on his skin.

It was a face that had seen anger and sadness more than anything else, however handsome he was beyond that, and it made Tommen’s chest ache.

It wasn’t _fair_.

“Sansa is. She’ll always mourn your parents, and Robb, and she’s not the little girl who first arrived in Kings Landing any more, but she’s happy. Happier than I think she ever expected to be. Arya…” Tommen smiled a little distantly, sadly, focussing more inwardly than on Rickon.

“Arya doesn’t quite know how to be happy any more. I think she could be, if she returned to Westeros to visit, if she got to see Jon and Sansa again, but there are too many memories for her here.” His smile faded, and he sighed softly.

“She was there, at the Twins. When Robb and your mother were murdered, she saw his body when it was brought out, after they’d desecrated it. If I could make it so that night never happened I would, even if it meant Robb had marched on Kings Landing and done to me and my family what was done to Elia Targaryan and her children at the end of Robert’s rebellion. Even if I could only take the memory from Arya, so it wouldn’t haunt her any more… But I can’t. I can’t right the wrongs that were done to her; or to you, or to Sansa, or any of the hundreds of people my family stepped over on their way to sitting on that stupid, ugly iron chair.” He swallowed back the bitterness that had built up in his mouth with his words, stopped walking and shut his eyes for a moment, running a hand down his face.

Rickon didn’t need to hear any of that; he didn’t need to listen to him talk about what had happened to the Starks, he already knew it all, _intimately_. And he didn’t need Tommen’s guilt laid on his shoulders, either. It wasn’t fair.

Tommen opened his eyes and forced a smile, meeting Rickon’s indecipherable look steadily.

“Some day I’ll convince Jon to visit her, to let someone else temporarily lead the Night’s Watch. Just for a month or two, so they can spend some time together; she’ll never leave Dany’s side.” Rickon continued to stare at him wordlessly for a moment, and Tommen shifted nervously, unsettled by the intensity of his gaze.

It took him a moment before he spoke.

“You’re a Lannister.” He stated, something confused in his tone of voice; and Tommen winced, turning his face away.

“Yes. I am.” There was a weight to his words, but he didn’t want to explain it, wouldn’t burden Rickon with his reasons, and Rickon’s frown deepened as he looked at him.

“Only in looks, though. The hair, your eyes… everything else is different. You’re not like Joffrey, or your mother.” He seemed to decide something with that, and Tommen glanced back at him, confused.

Rickon just frowned at him, before starting to walk again.

“I go hunting with Shaggydog in the mornings; it’s usually just me and him, as he generally doesn’t like anyone else, but he seems to trust you, so you can come if you want.” Tommen blinked at his back, before moving to follow after him.

“Do you want me to?” Rickon glanced back at him; and then smiled briefly.

The expression and the way it softened his face made something in Tommen’s chest kick pleasantly.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Tommen grinned, and jogged to catch up and walk beside the other man.

-

Tommen dropped into the snow beside Rickon, breathless but smiling, and dragged closer one of the crop of snow-white rabbits they’d hunted down together from the pile Rickon had dropped them in, glancing briefly at where Shaggydog was already tearing into the scraggly deer he’d managed to track down on the other side of the clearing.

He pulled a knife free from his belt, laying out the little corpse so he could start to skin it; but he paused when Rickon held his wineskin toward him. Tommen looked between the skin and it’s owner, something that was almost amusement creeping into his expression.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink wine.” Rickon watched him for a moment, before frowning and lowering the skin.

“Why not?” He asked brusquely, almost as if he was trying to combat the subtle friendly gesture by being more rough with his voice; and Tommen fought the urge to roll his eyes, reciting his response as he had done a hundred times before.

“Wine dulls your senses and lowers your inhibitions; as a King I can’t afford either.” Rickon studied him while Tommen returned attention to his rabbit, and the Stark snorted softly, shaking his head.

“You’re lying.” Tommen glanced at him sharply; and Rickon met the look, gaze steady and unimpressed.

“What’s the real reason?” He asked, interest sparking in his eyes. Tommen watched him, expression hardening.

“You don’t want to know.” The scoff that he received in reaction made his jaw tighten, and Rickon narrowed his eyes at the blonde man.

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked. Tell me.” Tommen tried to stare him down, mouth shut and eyes hard, but Rickon was unrelenting. After a moment Tommen turned away, concentrating on his rabbit and the task of removing it’s skin as he started to speak, tone monotonous.

“Robert spent more time drinking than anything else when he was king; half of the debt he left the crown with when he died was due to his constant demand for more wine. It made him slow and stupid and quick to anger, and I can remember watching my mother walk around the Red Keep with bruises on her face because he was drunk and she was stubborn. It was the wine that killed him; he drank too much, and because of that he both thought and moved too slow to avoid the boar that took his life.” Tommen tore the pale, soft skin from the dead rabbit, and placed each part in a separate pile before reaching for another, dragging it closer and starting to skin it. He continued speaking, tone dull and distant, cutting over whatever question Rickon had been about to ask.

“During the tournament held to celebrate his coronation, Joffrey ordered a knight who was supposed to be fighting drowned in wine, because he was drunk and late to take his turn in the melee. The man only lived because Sansa was smarter than Joffrey and kinder than she had any reason to be by that point. He died at his wedding when Olenna Tyrell slipped poison into his wine, because she couldn’t stand the idea of her granddaughter being condemned to marriage with a monster like him, and my uncle, the only good Lannister I ever knew, was sentenced to death for it.” Skin in one pile, corpse in another.

His hand shook slightly as he reached for another rabbit.

“Tyrion spent his whole life drinking to forget; forget that Tywin hated him, that Cersei blamed him for the death of their mother, that the first woman he’d ever loved had been a whore paid to sleep with him. When he needed it most, my grandfather denied him the right to wine, to peace of mind; he made him spend what he thought would be the last days of his life fully aware that his family thought him capable of murdering his nephew, all because I was too young and, and naive to see that last cruelty for what it was.” His knife hand shook as he finished with his third rabbit, dropping the pieces into their separate piles and then reaching for a fourth; only for Rickon to catch his wrist before he could claim it, stilling the shaking to his fingers with his grip.

Tommen swallowed hard, but kept talking, eyes locked on Rickon’s grip on his wrist.

“On the night Stannis laid siege to Kings Landing, my mother sat in the Maiden’s Vault with the women and children of the Red Keep and gradually got more and more drunk. I watched her tell an already terrified Sansa, in vivid detail, how if Stannis took the city his men would line up for the chance to rape her. When it looked like we’d lost the battle, she took me to the Iron Throne, sat me on her lap, and told me a story; and seconds before Tywin came to tell us that we’d won, that Stannis had been pushed back and we were safe, she tried to feed me poison.” His hands finally stopped shaking with the words, with his stating what had happened out loud for the first time; and he swallowed, easing his wrist out of Rickon’s grip to run his hand down his face. He glanced at the other man, taking in the unreadable expression on his face, before forcing a brief smile.

“Besides which, I never really acquired a taste for it.” Rickon’s expression didn’t change, and Tommen’s smile slipped before he looked away, frowning at the snow.

He waited for Rickon’s response, for either the general pity he got from anyone who was present on the rare occasions he allowed himself to talk about his family or the initial dismissal he’d expected, for Rickon to state that he didn’t care, that Tommen had been right to state as much.

Rickon sighed, and Tommen felt his eyes move away from him.

“Why do you call him Robert?” Tommen frowned to himself, and Rickon elaborated.

“Your father. You’ve only called him Robert. Why?” Tommen scoffed softly, and his reply was quiet, half under his breath.

“You know why. Robert Baratheon wasn’t my father; he just thought he was. Before Daenerys came, before she saw...something in me that made me good enough to sit the Iron Throne, I had less real claim to it than a bastard.” Rickon let out a breath, and Tommen shut his eyes, waiting.

“You’ve seen her dragons?” Tommen startled, looking at Rickon sharply, confusion written across his face; but Rickon just looked back at him, patiently waiting for an answer.

“...yes. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion.” Rickon nodded, looking away and frowning.

“I saw the White Walkers. When I was thirteen, beyond the Wall.” Tommen watched him for a moment, before the tension seemed to ease out of him, and he glanced back at the pile of furs he now had. He reached out for them, so he could lay them flat rather than spreading the blood on them, and Rickon spoke up absently.

“I know a faster way to skin them.” He offered; and when Tommen smiled it was genuine.

“I believe that.” He glanced up when he heard movement, smiling briefly when he found that Shaggydog had risen to his feet so he could move closer and sit between them, humming when Tommen stroked his fur gently.

Rickon watched the interaction silently for a moment.

“Shaggydog doesn’t like people.” He stated, frowning a little, and Tommen hummed.

“Maybe he just doesn’t see me as a threat.” Rickon’s frown deepened, and he watched Tommen’s face, meeting his eyes when he glanced up at him.

Tommen stared back at him, and then swallowed, unsettled by the way his heart was thudding heavily in his chest and his stomach had tightened with meeting Rickon’s eyes.

“I usually spend my afternoons looking through what needs to be done for the Seven Kingdoms; reading through important letters, revising laws. Today I’ll probably just end up spending a couple of hours convincing my escort not to be idiots and agitate the men and women you have with you, but if you wanted to join me tomorrow I’d be grateful. You probably know the North better than anyone, and I could use help when working toward fixing things up here.” Rickon took a moment to study him, assumedly searching for sincerity in his face; and after a moment he nodded.

“Alright.” He offered; and Tommen smiled, before turning back to the Direwolf, conscious of the other man’s eyes on him when he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah chapter two.  
> Again, leave me comments and kudos if you like it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussion of in-world homophobia and incest.

“Alright everyone get out, you’re all useless.” Tommen sat with his head in his hands, regarding the maps spread out before him with no small measure of frustration, and the three guards - and Loras, of course - stood in his tent fell silent.

“Your Grace?” One of them asked nervously, and he ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily.

“Go on. Leave. None of you are any help.” The man who’d spoken blanched, but Loras clapped a hand on his shoulder and started to lead him from the tent, muttering consolations to him as they went. Tommen stared after them when the last had left, and then sighed, dropping his head onto the tabletop.

He constantly longed for a day on which he didn’t have to run the Seven Kingdoms; just one day on which Westeros could run herself. 

But she couldn’t, and Tommen was not Robert, or Joffrey. He wouldn’t leave such important matters to the Small Council, it was his job to keep Westeros going, to make sure things ran smoothly.

He would survive the headaches. The Seven Kingdoms wouldn’t survive another lax King.

There was the quiet, rough noise of someone clearing their throat, and Tommen lifted his head, prepared to order Loras back out of the tent if he’d returned; but he blinked, surprised, when he found Rickon stood before him, watching him with a blank expression.

Tommen was momentarily dumbfounded.

“You came.” Rickon frowned at him, and Tommen cleared his throat, pushing himself upright properly and running his hands down his face.

“Right. Of course you came. Ignore me, it’s been a long day.” The Stark grimaced a little as he moved closer, eyes flicking over the maps with interest. He paused beside the table, and then glanced at Tommen.

“How?” Tommen blinked back at him; before sighing and claiming a letter from the small pile beside his elbow, handing it to Rickon.

“Ramsay Bolton has decided, yet again, to abuse his position as Warden of the North. He’s now started claiming something called the Right of First Blood; a custom that hasn’t been used since the First Men ruled Westeros, which grants lords the right to sleep with new brides. To steal them after their weddings, if you will. Understandably everyone wants to see his head roll for it, myself included, but these things are complicated.” Rickon scowled at the letter, crumpling it in his hand; and Tommen watched the casual destruction thoughtfully, before his eyes flicked up to settle on the other man's face when he spoke.

"Why is it complicated? Why not just kill him and have done with it?" Tommen watched him for a moment, before sighing and standing, moving his maps around until a detailed one of the North lay on top of the others. 

"It may interest you to know you sound exactly like Loras and everyone else who was here before you. 'Why not just kill him', Seven Hells." Rickon narrowed his eyes, but Tommen ignored the look in favour of gesturing to the map.

"The North cannot be held by anyone but a Northman, and the Boltons are the only family with sufficient resources to do so; no other Northern family has the influence or power necessary. If they did, I'd have stripped Ramsay of the title years ago." He drew a line from Dreadfort to Winterfell with a finger, frowning to himself. 

"The plan was for Sansa's youngest son to be named as Ramsay's replacement as soon as he's old enough; I ordered him out of  Winterfell the year Robb was born, so it could start to be rebuilt, and I've met with all the families who followed your brother into battle since to discover what it would take for them to swear their allegiance to Sansa's son. I was going to name him Warden on his sixteenth name day, and change his name to Stark officially, but that's fourteen years away. With what Ramsay's doing no one is going to be willing to wait that long, and war will break out." He ran a hand down his face.

"And this country will not survive another war." They were both silent for a long moment, Tommen trying to massage away his headache while Rickon looked between him and the map thoughtfully. 

Rickon stepped closer, so he was half behind Tommen and could reach out and touch the place where Winterfell was marked, fingertips lingering near Tommen’s while his heat against the other man's back made Tommen swallow.

"I could hold it." Tommen went still, before turning his head enough to study Rickon's face as he continued, moving his hand to touch the Wolf's Wood.

"There are ten thousand of the Free Folk currently camped in the Wolf's Wood, ready to march where I order; men and women who want homes here and are willing to fight for them. It's enough to deal with Ramsay Bolton and then hold the North once he's gone." Tommen watched him, expression clearing as realisation set in.

"But not as Warden. You want the North to be independent again." Rickon lifted his head enough to look at him, meeting his eyes, and for a moment Tommen was acutely aware of how close they were, of the spare inches between them.

Tommen forced the thoughts back and smiled wryly at him.

"Rickon Stark, King in the North. It does have a ring to it.” Rickon cocked his head a little; and when he crossed his arms he just brushed Tommen’s chest, enough to make something flutter in Tommen’s stomach.

“You aren’t going to argue.” There was no question in his voice, and Tommen’s mouth quirked before he glanced away, looking over the map.

“The North isn’t mine. It hasn’t belonged to anyone, really, since Robb died; and even before that it was never Robert’s. Without dragons to hold it the North has always been separate, always belonged to itself, or to the Starks, to your family. Officially declaring its independence will likely lead to some disputes with Dorne, but while Myrcella is married to Trystane I’m not worried. Becoming separate, having their own ruler would be best for the North. Gods know the people don’t love me, certainly not enough to fight against such a break.” His eyes flicked back to meet Rickon’s, half from beneath his eyelashes.

“Be sure you want it though, Rickon. I don’t think you’d be a bad King, but if you were I’d feel compelled to retake the North, to write to Daenerys and ask her to return so as to put things back the way they were. As it is, even if you’re the greatest King the North has ever had, a crown is heavier than it looks. It’s not a burden I’d wish on anyone; if it was I’d have given mine away to Myrcella years ago. You need to really decide whether or not you want every man, woman and child from Moat Cailin to Queenscrown relying on you to keep them fed, happy.” He and Rickon watched each other for a long moment, before something seemed to shift in Rickon’s eyes and he stepped back, clearing his throat.

“How does it work for you and Daenerys?” Tommen blinked and shook his head a little as if to clear it, before looking back at Rickon thoughtfully.

“She’s High Queen of….well, everything. Though I have the title of King, strictly I’m just Lord Protector of Westeros. It’s an extravagant way of saying that I rule the Seven Kingdoms for her while she rules Slavers Bay and continues her attempts to outlaw slavery completely, but if she ever comes back I’ll step back and let her lead.” He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, and murmured under his breath.

“I keep finding myself praying that one day she’ll come back, and I’ll be allowed just one, solitary day on which I don’t have to rule.” Rickon studied him for a moment, and then looked away, frowning.

“It’s what Robb wanted, what everyone I’ve spoken to wants; and I want to be King.” His face softened a little, and for a brief moment he looked as young as he was.

“Not forever; if Sansa’s son can learn how to be a good King, or if I ever have a son of my own, I’ll pass it to them. But I want the North free. And if my kin want it of me, I’ll gladly rule them.” Tommen stared at him; and then sank into his chair, letting out a breath.

“Then the North will be independent; and we can spend the next couple of weeks deciding on borders and trading and generally how to make this _work_.” Rickon glanced over at him, something almost like disbelief in his face, and Tommen smiled a little.

“First things first, I suppose; what are we going to do about the Wall, and the Kingsroad?”

-

The clang of steel meeting echoed across the snow, filling the crop of bare trees.

Tommen struck out at the guard he was sparring with again, swinging his sword easily; and stepped quickly back across the snow when the swing was deflected, out of reach of the responding jab.

“You’re getting slow, Your Grace.” The guard drawled, swinging his sword lazily in a circle, and Tommen scowled, stepping forward and swiping at his ribs.

“That is a blatant lie.” He snapped; and his opponent assumed a mock-affronted look, deflecting the blow and side-stepping the following jab.

“Me? Lie? You’re my King, my liege, the person who pays me, why would I lie to you?” Tommen caught his responding cut, and met the other man’s smirk with a raised eyebrow, expression unamused. He forced him back a step as he replied.

“Because you also just happen to be a _child,_ Nibs.” The guard - Nibs - laughed and moved away again, swinging his sword as he corrected his own stance; and then Tommen’s, tapping his knee into the correct place with the flat of his sword.

Tommen rolled his eyes, but obediently moved.

“I’m wounded, Your Grace.” Nibs moved forward quickly; but Tommen ducked his blow, smacking out at his hip with the flat of his sword and grinning briefly at landing the blow.

“You’ll be more than wounded in a moment, _Ser._ ” He offered dryly; and Nibs snorted, cicling Tommen slowly.

“Don’t call me that.” Tommen followed his progress carefully, but his tone was earnest when he replied.

“Stop with the ‘Your Grace’s then. You know I don’t like it; not when I’m away from court.” Nibs’ mouth quirked in almost a smile, and then he darted forward, striking at Tommen, blow after blow in quick succession. Tommen barely managed to deflect each before the sword touched him.

“Only when you start striking faster; you’re better than this.” Nibs watched his face seriously when he spoke, and Tommen replied through gritted teeth, still fending off strikes.

“Well, we can’t all be extensively trained Dornish assassins, can we?” He ducked a swing, stepped forward as he made to strike at Nibs’ chest, end the sparring session-

“You’re an assassin?” Tommen missed a step; and Nibs caught him in the chest with a shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground, landing in the snow with a soft ‘oof’.

He frowned up at the sky for a very long moment, while Nibs turned to their intruder, peering up at her where she was perched lazily in a tree.

“Not any more. His Grace ensnared my services as a lowly guard.” Tommen scoffed, staying in the snow and watching the overcast sky.

“Ensnared, right. Because I have the capability to do such a thing.” Nibs ignored him while their observer - Rickon’s apparent right hand, Tommen noted dully, the one who’d pretended to be in charge when first meeting him. Vidia - smiled slowly, the upturn to her lips interested.

“How’d that happen? Assassin does sound much more interesting than ‘lowly guard’.” Nibs grinned, while Tommen just rolled his eyes and waited for the exaggerations to begin.

“Tommen was nearly killed by a Priestess of R’hllor; Stannis Baratheon’s fire god, the one that demands sacrifices by fire. Though it wasn’t my job, I fought my way into Dragonstone and saved him; saved his life.” The King still lying in the snow spoke up, voice thick with disapproval and no small amount of embarrassment.

“It wasn’t nearly that dramatic. He snuck in through the storm drains and picked the lock of my cell; there was no actual fighting.” Nibs carried on as if he hadn’t spoken, and Vidia’s lips quirked in amusement, her eyes moving between them.

“I got him out, got him to the army that had been sent to retrieve him, and he was grateful enough to beg me to become his personal guard; different from the Kingsguard, but with similar responsibilities.” Tommen let out a bark of laughter, and Nibs turned his head enough to grin at him as he muttered his corrections.

“I offered him the job because my uncle sent three thousand men to retrieve me, but only Nibs had the wits to actually attempt sneaking in to get me. He accepted because he’s a condescending _child_ who apparently thought I needed looking after.” Nibs replied dryly, cocking his head.

“Still do. I don’t care if you’re twenty two and a ‘man’, you’d be doomed without me keeping an eye on you.” The young man on the ground smiled briefly at the sky, and sighed as his eyes slipped closed.

“You’ll have to stop mothering me eventually. Find a wife, have children, teach them to kill people; it’s going to happen.” The reply was soft, and more earnest that anything that usually came from Nibs, accompanied by the soft _crunch_ of Vidia dropping out of her tree and onto the snow.

“Well, that won’t happen until you stop being threatened. I should think you’ve a great many more years of me teaching you to fight and knocking you into the dirt yet.” Tommen’s reply was dry, unamused, but his mouth curled up in a smile.

“Oh, _joy_.” Vidia’s voice was amused and intrigued when she spoke, and her words made Tommen’s smile widen.

“You’re still being threatened? Even with the Dragon Queen on your side?” He rubbed a hand across his face before replying, laughter trapped in his throat, and Nibs snorted softly at his words.

“You may not have heard, but just recently the North rose against me, and then Rickon Stark aimed an arrow at me and only held back from putting it through my throat because his Direwolf likes me for some inexplicable reason.” Vidia let out a startled little laugh, and Tommen opened his eyes before offering her a brief, rueful smile.

“My life has been being threatened since I was nine years old; since winter began, and my brother was crowned king. At this point, the North rebelling is a welcome relief.” Nibs offered his wry response, sliding his sword back into its scabbard.

“Ah yes. Because nothing says ‘long awaited break’ like half freezing in the snow.” Both Tommen and Vidia sniggered at the same time, and Nibs rolled his eyes before moving to stand over his king, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Speaking of which, you should get up, before you start losing extremities.” Tommen sighed as his eyes slid shut, grunting a soft noise of acknowledgement but not moving. He could almost feel the heat of Nibs’ sigh of long suffering, put upon frustration.

“With your luck, Tommen, the first thing you’ll lose is your cock; _get up_.” The blonde cracked open an eye to regard his personal guard curiously.

“Do you think that would be enough to make Loras finally back off? If the rare occasions on which he gets to be the one receiving became non-existent, _impossible_ even. I may make it through a whole day without a single badly-masked innuendo and offer.” Nibs rolled his eyes, but Vidia’s interest was piqued and she moved closer, dropping to sit on the snow near his head.

“You fuck boys?” Tommen regarded her for a moment, amused, before replying.

“Mostly they fuck me, but you’ve got the gist, yes. Though I’d also rather have it said that I fuck _men_ , because while I may be an abomination in the eyes of Gods and men I’m not a monster, and I don’t sleep with children.” Vidia cocked her head as she watched him and frowned.

“Why would your sexual preferences make you an abomination?” Tommen looked back at her for a moment, turning her words over in his head, before returning her frown.

“The Seven view men lying with other men as an abomination; a sin against nature. In all truth my parents were twins so my very existence is technically unnatural and abominable, so I don’t care much what anyone thinks of my _leanings,_ but the Seven Pointed Star makes it very clear. Even if it didn’t I grew up listening to my mother and the man I thought was my father condemn Renly Baratheon for his own sexual exploits; even if the Gods had never said anything about men lying together, people are unsettled by the notion. Less so lately, but.” Vidia’s frown deepened, and when she replied her voice held an underlying sharpness, something cold and angry hiding there.

“The Old Gods don’t care who you fuck. Why would they? What effect does the person you stick your cock in have on anyone else? None. The Old Gods don’t care, and neither do we.” Tommen held her eyes, and after a moment her expression seemed to falter, as if she saw something in his expression that gave her pause; but he just smiled wryly, looking back at the sky.

“That sounds almost too good to be true.” She didn’t get her chance to continue, nor did Nibs get the opportunity to voice whatever chastisement was clearly waiting on his tongue. There was a delighted bark from under the trees; and Tommen pushed up onto his elbows in time to see Shaggydog bounding through the trees toward him, tongue lolling in excitement.

The Direwolf’s master stood only a handful of feet away, a frown spread across his face while he seemingly helplessly looked Tommen up and down, gloved fingers clenching into fists at his sides.

For a moment Tommen was very conscious of how he looked, face flushed, pushed up on his elbows, legs spread lazily.

He looked, he imagined, _inviting_ ; and Rickon held his eyes for a long, torturous moment, before visibly forcing himself to look at Vidia.

“You’re needed back at camp; no more flirting.” The dark haired woman pouted, but obediently pushed to her feet, smirking slightly as she rose.

“Please, Rickon, you know I never stop.” She glanced back at Nibs long enough to wink as she sauntered away, and the Dornishman grinned back at her; but then Rickon spoke, and Tommen’s attention was stuck solely on him.

“You should get out of the snow; get warm. I’ll be in your tent in a couple of hours, to discuss the trading plans some more.” Tommen nodded, smiling a little weakly.

“I’ll be waiting.” He promised, voice a little rougher than he’d intended; and Rickon quickly turned on his heel, stalking away and calling Shaggydog to his side before the Direwolf could properly say hello to Tommen.

The blonde king just watched him go; and then sighed when he was sure he was out of earshot.

“I’m completely fucked, aren’t I.” He mumbled, mostly to himself.

Nibs responded regardless, holding out a hand for him to take.

“Completely.” He agreed, and Tommen rolled his eyes before taking the hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; discussion of torture, attempted sacrifice, in-world religious extremism. Palpable pining.
> 
> Shorter chapters now as things _really_ start moving.

Tommen’s chest rose and fell unsteadily, breaths ragged while he shifted under his furs, grasping helplessly at those beneath him before releasing them and murmuring wordlessly, expression creased in some unidentifiable emotion. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and for a moment he stopped breathing, going very still while his mouth fell open; and then he jerked violently, whining and turning to lay on his front, burying his face in the crook of an arm.

He shuddered and let out a quiet, desperate noise that almost resembled a sob; before jerking awake, pushing up on his elbows and gasping, nightmare still crystal clear in his head.

After a moment Tommen ran a hand down his face, wiping away the sweat while he breathed heavily, and then pushed up to sit properly, throwing his legs over the side of his make-shift bed so he could drop his head into his hands.

He’d gone _months_ without that nightmare. Almost eight years since the event itself had happened and he’d finally been granted months of not dreaming it was happening again, night after night.

It would seem nothing lasted, though; and he ran fingers through his hair before absently trailing them down his right arm, thumb following the swell of his bicep.

The scars were smooth, despite their appearance, faded to a colour paler than his unmarked skin, and licked across his upper arm, not quite reaching his elbow but twisting back over his shoulder. More scars were visible on the side of his chest, flatter and better-healed than those on his arm, but their origin was still obvious in the shape and general appearance.

They were burn scars, faded from the original, angry pink they’d been a year after he’d earnt them.

_ Finally _ faded, though they’d never tan the way the rest of his skin did under the sun.

“As if a concrete reminder was necessary.” He murmured to himself, tapping the scar tissue lightly with his thumb. He glanced up quickly when there was a soft, curious whine from the doorway of his tent; and softened when he found Shaggydog stood watching him, gold eyes flicking between his scars and his face.

Most of the tension slipped out of him, and Tommen held out a hand, wiggling his fingers at the Direwolf with a tired smile.

“Come on. It’s okay.” The creature padded closer slowly, and when he was close enough Tommen slipped his fingers into the fur around his neck, sighing quietly and petting the huge wolf, smile fading.

“I remember my mother goading Ned Stark and telling him the Old Gods don’t have power in the south; that he’d find no help from them there. It would make sense, I suppose, for the Seven not to have any power here. I step across the border and all my prayers for dreamless sleep become ineffectual.” He rubbed around Shaggydog’s ears lightly, smiling when he hummed at the attention.

“Perhaps I should go looking for a Weirwood. I’ve faced down dragons and armies, but these nightmares will reduce me to nothing if given the chance.” Shaggydog’s eyes opened where they’d slid shut under the gentle ministrations of Tommen’s fingers, and he studied the blonde man for a moment before nosing closer, moving to rest his head in Tommen’s lap.

Tommen blinked down at him, surprised; and then sighed softly, resting both of his hands in the Direwolf’s fur before leaning over enough to rest his cheek against the back of his neck, eyes slipping shut.

“Maybe it’s not that the Gods are unable to protect me from these nightmares up here. Maybe they’re letting them back in as a reminder; a reminder that I’m not allowed an ordinary life, that happiness is not for people like me.” He sighed softly, dragging up memories of his time in the North so far; Rickon's heat against his back, his fingers on Tommen’s wrist, eyes on his face over and over again.

"I'm deluding myself." He whispered, and he twisted his fingers into Shaggydog’s fur.

"He doesn't even see me; and I can't blame him for it. My family single-handedly decimated his, and if life and the Gods were fair he'd have let that arrow fly and killed me that first day. He should only see them when he looks at me; see my mother in my eyes, my grandfather in the shape of my face. I'd rather that, some days, than him seeing...seeing _through_ me." He snorted softly, the noise self depreciating, and pressed his cheek more firmly against the thick, soft fur of the animal who had sensed his distress.

"I'm deluding myself, and I'm acting like a child. He's made me no promises, and I don’t expect I'll receive any. He deserves better; and I _keep_ asking things of people who cannot and will not give them to me. It’s a habit I desperately need to break." Tommen lifted his head, sighing and stroking the flat of his hand over Shaggydog’s dark snout before he smiled weakly. 

"I'm alright now, Shaggydog. You should go back to him." The Direwolf stared at him for a long moment, but Tommen just tutted and gently pushed at him.

"Go on. I'm fine." The creature reluctantly moved away, tail tucked between his back legs; and Tommen sighed to watch him go, running a hand down his face and then dropping back onto his furs, blinking up at the canvas of his tent.

A habit to break. Right.

Because giving himself away to men who didn't really want to keep him could be called a 'habit'.

He let out a frustrated huff and rolled over, intent on a dreamless sleep.

-

"What are you doing?" For a long moment Tommen didn’t reply, instead just staring at the roof of his tent, the thick canvas letting in only just enough light to fill the space beneath it. He sucked in a deep breath; and then turned his head so he could meet Rickon’s frown. 

"Laying on the floor of my tent. Obviously." Rickon's frown deepened, and he took a couple of steps closer.

"I gathered as much. _Why_ are you laying on the floor?" The corners of Tommen’s mouth quirked slightly, and he hummed before turning his head to look up again. 

"I had a bad night. Nightmares. So instead of spending my entire day re-reading letters that tell me everything is fine back in Kings Landing, I'm taking the afternoon to relax." His voice softened, and he frowned slightly to himself. 

"I thought I was already pretty relaxed; that being here was enough. It would appear that I was wrong, though." He watched out of the corner of his eye as Rickon shifted, something uncomfortable and tense in the movement. 

"Do you want me to leave?" Tommen glanced back at him, and shook his head a little, smiling briefly. 

"No. Though if you want to join me it would make this a lot less awkward." He grinned slightly; and Rickon rolled his eyes before obediently moving to lay beside him, shoulders just about touching.

Tommen instinctively relaxed at having Rickon beside him, didn’t stop to let himself question it or mull over what it meant; but when Rickon spoke again he went very still, expression creasing and turning desperately sad.

"What was your nightmare about?" Tommen’s eyes slid shut and he swallowed thickly; but he answered before Rickon could take the question back, speaking very softly, as if saying it too loud would make it real all over again.

"Nibs didn't lie. We really did meet when he broke me out of Stannis' dungeons. He wasn't being paid to get me out, no one even asked him to find me; but he did it anyway. Only by the time he found me I had to be carried out of my cell." He could feel Rickon’s eyes on his face, but he kept his shut tightly as he continued. 

"Stannis' priestess was...she had convinced him that she could bring the dragon statues on Dragonstone to life, but that she'd need king's blood to do it. I'm not- Robert wasn't my father, but having been crowned made me good enough." He ran a hand down his face and laughed weakly.

"I went there to make peace with him. Left my Kingsguard half a mile behind me and rode through his gates, fourteen years old, hoping to make peace with the man I still believed to be my uncle. And he had me dragged from my horse and imprisoned for almost a month, before Melissande dragged me from the hole where they'd thrown me so she could burn me on the battlements, with my uncle watching." He felt the way Rickon went still beside him, and Tommen weakly rubbed at his eyes before opening them, staring again at the roof of his tent.

"It didn’t work properly. I don’t know how, or, or _why_ , but for some reason the fire didn't catch. My right arm and my shoulder did, I can still remember- but nowhere else burnt. The fire didn't touch my face, or anywhere else." He let out a breath, and shook his head a little. 

"It didn’t really matter. I passed out because of the pain of where it _did_ work, drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, heard them discussing how it wasn't necessary to burn me like that, how they could just cut my throat and let my blood pour over the statues. It was what finally convinced me, in the end; the final push I needed to understand that the rumours, the accusations were all true. And it didn't even matter, because I could barely move for hurting, was sure I was going to die soon; all it did was mean I'd die aware that I had no real right to the throne at all. And then Nibs found me." They were both silent for a moment, Tommen staring at the light coming in through the roof while Rickon stared at him; and then Tommen sighed. 

"The nightmares are always the aftermath; being thrown into that cell, landing on my burnt shoulder, the pain that came after. And I can see Stannis at the door, watching me trying to find some way to stop it hurting; and then Robert’s there, staring at me like..." Tommen trailed off and shook his head, eyes shutting again. 

"I thought they were gone, that I'd finally stopped having that nightmare, but apparently not. The Gods are not that kind." Rickon's words seemed to burst out of him, and Tommen turned quickly to blink at him in surprise. 

"I don't understand you. How you do this, how you keep going, especially when you don't hate any of the people who have caused you harm." Tommen opened his mouth, searching for words, but Rickon continued before he could find them.

"Don't lie to me. You don't hate Stannis at all, do you? He tried to burn you alive, and you talk about it like...like it was just some innocent mistake, like at the most it makes you _sad_." Tommen studied his face, and smiled slightly, the expression shaky.

"Life is far too short to waste it hating people; especially if they make a habit of disappointing you." Rickon's frown turned earnest, and he edged a little closer. 

"Some people deserve it, Tommen." His name sounded significant when coming from Rickon, a little harder, with a weight to it like he'd held the vowels in his mouth a little longer than people generally did; and Tommen felt his heart stammer in his chest, felt his stomach tighten.

"I can't afford to think like that." He murmured, shaking his head; but he went very still when a hand settled on his cheek.

Rickon traced the line of his cheekbone with his thumb, callouses dragging against his skin until he paused on the little scar beneath his eye.

"I can't understand that." He whispered, something in his expression suggesting that even though he _couldn't_ understand, he _wanted_ to.

Tommen held his breath and held Rickon’s eyes as his hand moved, fingers slipping into his hair while his thumb lingered at the corner of his mouth a moment before moving to press against the plush of his bottom lip, pressing just hard enough that Tommen’s lips parted.

Tommen wanted- he wanted- he didn’t know _what_ he wanted, switched between imagined scenarios too fast to really absorb what they entailed more than Rickon's hands on his skin, so much more than his thumb on his lips. His pulse hammered, his breath picked up; and when Rickon's eyes settled on his mouth, something hungry slipping into his expression, all he could think was _please._

_ Please please please please please please- _

"Rickon." He was well aware how breathless he sounded, how desperate, like he was _begging-_

But it broke the heaviness of the moment, and Rickon jerked away, pulling his hand away like he'd been burnt and moving quickly to his feet, striding toward the exit.

Tommen half scrambled after him, calling his name while his heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, dread filling its space in his chest.

"Rickon, I-" He turned back at the door, mouth open; before he paused, eyes flicking over Tommen helplessly. 

Rickon swallowed before speaking. 

"I'll see you later." He stated sharply; and Tommen flinched a little, almost missing how Rickon’s expression faltered with it the second before he swept out of the tent.

Tommen stared after him, heart hammering; and then buried his face in his hands. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha. Ahahahah. I am so sorry.  
> Please leave comments!!!

The cold air cleared his mind.

Dully, Tommen observed that it felt colder than it usually did; likely because he hadn’t often ventured out of his tent while it was night, and therefore hadn’t experienced the temperature drop properly before. But it cooled his cheeks and calmed his heartbeat; and he sucked in a breath of the crisp air, kicking a little at the snow and tucking his hands under his cloak, where it was warmer.

He’d fucked up.

If he was honest, Rickon had started it; had laid hands on him, touched him in a way that suggested- but Tommen had shattered the moment, had let him leave. If he’d stopped him, or kept his stupid mouth shut…

Well. Who knew what would have happened?

He’d have at least gotten a kiss for all the stress and heartache he was suffering now, would at least know what Rickon tasted like, know how his lips felt pressed to Tommen’s. As it was all he knew was what lust looked like in Rickon’s eyes and the corners of his mouth, and how his fingers felt on his face.

It wasn’t enough, and Tommen had possibly fucked up their negotiations completely.

If Tywin Lannister hadn’t already started rolling in his grave upon Tommen’s initial agreement to grant the North independance, he was certainly doing so now.

He was _so_ stupid.

For a moment, Tommen glanced back at the tents housing his guards, at the light flickering inside Loras’; and he considered it.

He’d been free of Loras for almost four years, but in that moment he was tempted, even if it just made him forget for a little while.

He quickly dismissed the notion, however, and trudged a little further away from the camp, stepping under the trees. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Loras, didn’t want the repetition of a part of his life he was ashamed of, didn’t _really_ want to forget. The night air was enough to calm him, enough to keep him from over thinking, the way he always, _always_ did. And if he was lucky, if the night before hadn’t been a fluke, he would have company soon enough.

Tommen smiled when he saw the gold eyes starting toward him, when Shaggydog stepped into clearer moonlight and moved close enough that he could hold the Direwolf’s huge head to his chest, stroking gloved fingers through his fur.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” His breath left him in a cloud, and Shaggydog hummed against his chest, pressing a little more firmly against him.

“You could have told me, could have warned me this would happen if I didn’t keep my distance. You should have. It would have saved me a lot of heartache.” Shaggydog pushed at his chest again gently, and Tommen hugged him tighter, fingers fisting in the thick fur at his throat.

“You should have told me, Shaggydog. Should have figured out a way to make me see it would never happen, that he’d always remember what I am before anything could really happen.” He snorted softly to himself.

“You’d think I was used to it by now, but unfortunately I’m not that lucky.” Shaggydog let out a soft little huff that made him sound like he was agreeing, and Tommen smiled, moving to lift his head slightly; but then the huge wolf pushed him again, forcing him to stumble back a step.

Tommen frowned at him, before reached to gently stroke over his muzzle.

“Shaggydog? What is it?” The Direwolf pushed at his hand with his snout, and whined softly; but it wasn’t enough to mask the soft noises Tommen was suddenly very aware of, coming from the direction he’d originally been walking in.

He didn’t recognise them. Or perhaps forced himself not to recognise them, to not understand what they were so he still had the chance to turn and walk away, to remain blissfully ignorant of what it was Shaggydog was trying to keep him away from; but his curiosity was piqued, and he started forward, gently pushing Shaggydog away when the Direwolf made another attempt to push him back, murmuring a soft _no, Shaggydog_ as he moved.

It didn’t take long for him to realise what it was, to understand the choked-off little moans, the quiet _yes_ hissed through clenched teeth and the quietest, muffled little groan that accompanied a whisper of a cry, muffled by whoever was the source biting down on their bottom lip.

For a long moment Tommen thought of Nibs and Vidia; wondered whether they’d finally stopped dancing around each other, whether they’d snuck into the wood to have at each other in the dark. It would make sense, and Tommen would be happy for them both - he liked Vidia, and adored how well she balanced Nibs, how her snark matched his and she kept the Dornishman on his toes - and discovering them would grant him blackmail enough to stop Nibs crowing about his ‘fighting his way through Dragonstone singlehandedly’ when he rescued Tommen.

He would be relieved at finally being free of that infernal lie.

But it was not Nibs and Vidia; and when Tommen saw the source, clear as day with the moonlight beaming down on the pair pressed against a tree, he stopped breathing.

He didn’t recognise the girl, didn’t recognise the pale hair twisted into a plait that had been carelessly thrown back over her shoulder, or the open and gasping mouth, the tightly shut eyes and the small nose, the legs bared all the way to thighs that were currently wrapped around slim but sturdy hips. She didn’t even register in his memory, he was sure he’d never once laid eyes on her before that moment, before catching her being fucked against a silver-barked tree.

The man pressing into her, however, was a very different story; and Tommen couldn’t _breathe_.

Rickon’s eyes glanced over him sightlessly, unfocused with his current _task_ until they locked onto Tommen’s, drank in the horror he somehow _knew_ was obvious in his face. His rhythm stammered, stopped; and a myriad of emotions flooded his face, embarrassment and distress and confusion and horror to match Tommen’s, even while the defiance which ran through him like blood or air made itself obvious in the thinning of his lips.

Tommen started at him, and wanted-

He wanted to throw up, and cry, and _scream_ until he had no voice left.

And the traitorous little part of his heart that didn’t seem to understand what was happening wanted Rickon to set the girl down and drag Tommen to him instead, to fuck him as frantically as he had the pale-haired girl still clinging to him.

Seemingly every other inch of him rebelled against that thought with a fury, and he could taste bile in his mouth.

“Tommen…” Rickon’s voice was deceptively gentle, his eyes soft and sorry and still so horrified, and Tommen could taste the ‘I can explain’ waiting on his tongue.

Except he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t. And Tommen had _sworn_ to himself he’d never be put in this position again.

He wanted to _scream_.

Instead, he stumbled back a step, Shaggydog solid and steadying behind him, and the Direwolf growled softly, tone of voice warning. Rickon pushed off the now-confused wildling girl, eyes shifting between his Direwolf and Tommen as he pulled his breeches up to cover himself, mouth opening-

And Tommen couldn’t do it, couldn’t watch Rickon lie to him or apologise or worse, _laugh_ at him for ever thinking-

He turned on his heel and ran back in the direction he’d come, swallowing back the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks and ignoring Rickon as he shouted his name, asking him to stop, come back, turn around.

He wouldn’t. Never again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Tommen never spoke to Rickon again, went home and was miserable for the rest of forever.
> 
> ....not.

Tommen managed to avoid him for six days.

He read letters and wrote replies in the mornings, when he knew Rickon was hunting; walked through the camp or hid in Nibs' tent in the afternoons. When Rickon tried to catch him, he asked Nibs to start scouting ahead of him, warning him if Rickon was waiting for him or coming his way; and Tommen ignored every concerned question as to what had  _ happened,  _ turning his head away and refusing to voice what he'd seen aloud.

He’d seen the girl more than once. Lara, apparently; and every time they’d locked eyes she'd flushed, ducked her head in embarrassment, and quickly moved away.

He didn’t know whether she was just embarrassed at having been caught with Rickon, or whether he'd told her why Tommen had run, and there was some guilt there.

More and more, he found he didn’t care. 

Tommen could feel Nibs' concern like eyes on the back of his neck, but as much as he wished he could take advantage of it, talk to his friend and ease the pressure that seemingly refused to leave his chest he  _ couldn’t.  _

Talking about it-

Talking about it would make it far more real.

Tommen frowned as he sorted through the pile of old letters on his desk. It wasn't urgent that he track down the particular letter he was in search of, he had answered all the newest letters that morning. But he was running out of tasks to keep him preoccupied and on the move, and so was reduced to rereading old letters and revising old decisions he'd made based on them.

He let out a soft, self indulgent hiss of triumph upon finding it; and then paused, frowning as he realised how long it had been since he'd allowed himself to do something like that, to relax enough to be even slightly silly.

Almost seven days. 

He was still frowning, focussed inwardly with the letter crushed in his hand, when a gust of biting wind swept through the tent, indicating that someone had entered. He didn't even have time to come back to himself and look up before the intruder spoke.

"Why are you angry with me?" For a long moment, Tommen just looked at him.

Through the haze of carefully constructed detachment he'd spent almost a week building, he noted that Rickon looked tired; like sleep had been eluding him for days. His hair was a mess, like he'd been running his fingers through it constantly. 

And there was a tremor to his clenched fists and an edge to his expression that suggested out of the two of them, it was Rickon who was  _ angry _ .

"I'm not angry." Tommen almost whispered the words, and then glanced away, swallowing. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn't let himself be reduced to running away again; he would let Rickon say whatever he wanted to, and then go back to organising the independence of the North. 

Rickon scoffed, ignorant to the thoughts running through Tommen’s head. 

"I was sure we agreed you weren't going to lie to me. You've been avoiding me for almost a  _ week; why are you angry with me? _ " Tommen snapped back at him, temper flaring.

"I'm not  _ angry!  _ And I'm not lying!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, and then turned to kick his desk, hard enough that it rattled.

Tommen pushed his fingers through his hair, and let out a slow breath in an attempt to calm down before he spoke again. 

"I'm not angry with you. Yes, I've been avoiding you, but not because I'm angry. But even if I  _ was _ , you know why. You know  _ exactly _ why I've been avoiding you." Rickon watched him silently for a moment before replying. 

"I never promised you anything." His voice was cold, and Tommen flinched before replying sarcastically. 

"Oh, I know you didn't. You just let me think you wanted me and then had sex with someone else." Rickon's eyes narrowed. 

"I didn't-" Tommen cut over him, voice cracking and verging on hysterical while the tears he'd been fighting for days flooded his eyes.

"You didn't? Didn't what? Mean to let me think there was something there, that there was a chance that- or you didn't _ care _ , was that it? You knew exactly what you were doing, knew I didn't need promises to have hope you'd want me, but didn't care? Was that it?" Rickon shook his head sharply while Tommen’s hands started to shake at his sides.

"That's not my fault. I didn’t make you assume anything." Tommen laughed bitterly and rubbed at his eyes.

"No. No, you just let me tell you things even Nibs doesn't know, let me tell you _ everything,  _ share a space not even my sister has been part of with you. You just let me completely lower walls that I've spent _ years  _ building, and then touched me like you intended to do more than just stare at my mouth. None of that was your fault, you didn't do any of that." Rickon stared at him, seemingly lost for words, having lost the initial righteous anger that had sent him storming into Tommen’s tent in the first place.

"You said you weren't angry at me." He almost blurted the words, and Tommen gestured desperately before speaking, voice thick. 

"I'm  _ not. _ I'm hurt, and I'm upset, and I can't look at you without seeing the expression on Lara's face when you were  _ fucking her _ . And I  _ promised _ myself that I'd never let myself be hurt like this again, but here I am. The only person I am angry at, Rickon, is me." Rickon made an aborted move to reach out for him, but dropped his hand, his face softening. 

"I never wanted to hurt you, Tommen." The words just made Tommen’s chest ache, and he looked away.

"No. You just wanted to forget me; because you  _ wanted _ to kiss me, and that scared you." Rickon's expression switched from surprised to hostile, argumentative, faster than it had softened at Tommen’s obvious hurt; and Tommen snapped, shoving his hands into his hair.

"Oh, just go and  _ fuck yourself _ , Rickon. You’re an idiot and a coward and you're not allowed to do this to me. You're not  _ allowed _ ." He muttered the last words as he pushed past Rickon, striding out of the tent; and he fought the instinct to pause in the face of the biting wind that assaulted him the moment he left the shelter behind him, instead continuing across the snow, heading out past the camp and toward the flat plains.

The wind was kicking up flurries of snow, thick enough that he could likely move without being followed, and he tucked his hands up under his armpits as he moved, regretting having left his gloves behind; though not enough for him to go back, to return and face the boy he’d left behind. It would take more than the biting wind and his having forgotten his furs to make him go back to Rickon.

He ducked his head and fought onward for- he wasn't sure how long he walked, before he dropped to his knees, hugging himself tightly, eyes squeezed shut.

He wanted to be home. He wanted to be back in King’s Landing, where his only problems were fending off Loras and making sure he arrived at his Small Council meetings on time. He wanted his rooms and his bed and his cats and-

And he wanted Myrcella.

He wanted his  _ sister. _

She would know what to do, how to- to fix this, stop it hurting, stop the aching in his chest and behind his eyes. She been with him after Loras, had soothed away the heartache then, and he wanted,  _ needed _ her now; because this was worst than the loss of Loras, than forcing himself to cut the knight out of his life, out of his heart.

Rickon had had the potential to be so much  _ more _ ; and when he’d touched Tommen, when his thumb had lingered on his mouth, when he’d held his eyes so steadily...

He ran his freezing hands over his face, catching the tears starting to cool on his cheeks while the edges of his vision started to darken and blur as he opened his eyes. His attention caught on...something, something almost gold, almost blonde. 

For a mad, illogical moment all he could think was  _ 'Cella, it's Myrcella _ , all thoughts of sunlight glancing off snow and exhaustion-induced hallucinations and tricks of light banished with his longing. He swayed, reached, mumbled her name into the wind and snow pelting his face and weighing down his eyelashes.

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rickon POV! Woooo!  
> Warnings for this chapter; Rickon is a fuckin idiot, Nibs loses his shit at him.

The knife buried itself in the tree with a solid-sounding _thunk,_ landing right in the centre of the crudely drawn target on the bark; and Vidia let out a low whistle.

"Wow. I've not seen you this angry and worked up since you were twelve and Osha told you that you weren't allowed to go on a hunt with her." Rickon's response was almost a snarl, and he walked over to the tree, yanking his knife free savagely.

"I'm not _angry._ " Vidia shot him an unimpressed look, and from his place on the ground, Shaggydog snorted softly.

Rickon glanced at the Direwolf sharply - traitor, choosing Tommen’s side - but moved back to his mark, preparing to throw again.

"You _are_ angry, Rickon. I've known you for years, I know what your anger looks like. And I also know most of the anger is directed at yourself, and on top of it you're hurting; all of it for some reason you've yet to tell me." Rickon lost his focus at the last second, and the lack of focus combined with the vicious winds starting to tear through the little outcrop of trees they were sheltering from the growing snow storm in meant his knife only just hit the outermost circle.

_I'm hurt, and I'm upset, and I can't look at you..._

_I promised myself I'd never let myself be hurt like this again..._

_You're not allowed to do this to me. You're not allowed._

Fuck.

"I forgot who I am. I _let_ myself forget; and I forgot who _he_ is, and what his family has done." Vidia remained silent for a long moment, before speaking very carefully, taking pains to keep her voice gentle.

"From what I've been able to tell, he's just a boy, Rickon. Aye, he may be at the age where people are obliged to call him a man, but he's both much older and much younger than his years. He's just a boy; one who has been trying very hard to make you happy, give you what you want." Rickon glared at her, refusing to acknowledge the truth to her words.

"He's a _Lannister._ " Rickon's tone was final, but Vidia spoke again anyway, frowning at him.

"But he's not his family. You both seem to keep forgetting that." Rickon stared at her, desperate for words, for an argument; but before he could find what he wanted they were interrupted.

“Where is he?” Nibs’ voice was low, furious in a way Rickon had never heard, and Vidia glanced at the man she’d been flirting with incessantly for the last three weeks sharply, surprise and concern sweeping across her face. Rickon moved to retrieve his knife, ignoring Tommen’s guard while Vidia tried to calm him.

“Nibs, what-” He cut over her sharply, voice and expression a snarl.

“Vidia I enjoy your company tremendously and would do almost anything to remain in your good graces but right now _I am not talking to you_ . Rickon Stark, _where the fuck is my King?_ ” Rickon yanked his knife from the target, but didn’t turn around, instead staring at the silver bark of the tree without really seeing it.

“I don’t know. And right now, I don’t care.” His only warning was Vidia, her tone of voice frantic while he heard her boots hit the snow over the wind.

“Nibs, don’t-” Rickon was suddenly seized by the front of his shirt, and Nibs almost threw him against the tree, pinning him there and glaring into his face. He’d nearly lifted Rickon off his feet, and all Rickon could do was stare at him, a little breathless with how utterly _furious_ he looked, eyes blazing, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as the Dornishman watched him,

“I don’t know what you did to Tommen. I don’t know what it was that you did to him that has forced him into avoiding you for almost a week, that has upset him _so much_ that the first two days after it happened _he did not eat._ Right now? Right now I don’t care. Right now I could not _physically give less of a fuck_ . But Tommen is _missing_ . He has been missing for almost an hour, and the last person to see him was _you_ , when you stormed into his tent to yell at him. Did you perhaps miss the fact we’re currently in the middle of a _blizzard?_ He is missing, the snow is falling faster every minute, and if he left camp immediately after your conversation then he has been out in this snow, away from camp, _without his furs_ , for a half hour. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Do you understand that Tommen could be _dying out there?_ ” Rickon went very still; and it suddenly occurred to him that he’d stopped breathing. He hadn’t noticed when it had happened, it didn’t even really bother him, he’d just….stopped.

He could see it, crystal clear in his head; Tommen curled up in the snow, pale hair dusted with white flakes that should have melted but didn’t; the tears that had threatened to spill from his eyes while he’d shouted at Rickon back in his tent frozen to ice on his cheeks, perfect little salt water crystals; hands turned blue, clutched close to his chest and stilled by the exhaustion of trying to fight the cold; lips turned the palest purple, lips Rickon knew were soft and usually warm, knew parted easily beneath the gentlest touch, lips he’d wanted to- wanted to-

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Every word Tommen had said had been the truth; and because Rickon had been too much of a _coward_ to admit it, Tommen could be dying in the snow at that very moment.

 _No._ He wouldn’t let that happen. Not because of him.

He shoved Nibs sharply, forcing him to release him, and for a moment held the other man’s eyes; before he turned to Shaggydog, striding toward the Direwolf and kneeling before him.

“Can you find him, Shaggydog?” He murmured softly, reaching out to gently touch the top of his head; and the creature whined softly, blinking up at him. After thirteen years together Shaggydog knew him better than anyone, could read him easily; and Rickon didn’t need to be inside his head, didn’t need him to be able to talk to understand that look, understand what it meant.

_He cares about us, and you pushed him away. Fix it._

Rickon nodded.

“I know.” He murmured; and the Direwolf snorted as he pushed to his feet, lifting his head to sniff the air, search for Tommen’s scent on the wind. Rickon had never known an animal to be able to track better than Shaggydog, to catch scents better, and he watched him silently, desperately, hoped-

He snapped his teeth eagerly when he caught a scent, and swung his huge head in the direction it was coming from, letting out a coarse little _bark_ before he turned back to Rickon, shifting on his paws restlessly.

_Time to go; time to run._

“I’ll come with you.” Vidia stated hurriedly, stepping toward him, but Rickon glanced back and shook his head.

“No, Vidia you need to make a fire in my tent; I’ll bring him there once we’ve found him.” He could feel the cold thoughtfulness to Nibs’ eyes on the side of his face, but ignored it in favour of sliding his knife back into the sheath strapped to his forearm. He didn’t have time for Nibs’ anger with him, couldn’t _waste_ time arguing with him or acknowledging his - admittedly justified - rage. Rickon was angry enough at himself for the both of them; and Nibs could shout at him to his heart’s content _after_ they’d found Tommen.

He slipped his fingers into Shaggydog’s thick, dark fur, gently prompting the huge wolf into movement; and when he started to run Rickon followed, barely acknowledging Nibs’ swift footsteps behind him. Falling into the familiar rhythm of running, of moving over the ground, pulse hammering in his ears like a drum, was beyond him; he couldn’t get out of his head, couldn’t detach from his self-directed anger and mounting concern. It increased with every inch Shaggydog pulled away from them, with every new inch of snow that fell, with the sound of Nibs behind him and the thought of Tommen ahead.

Without meaning to, as he sprinted across the ice, eyes locked on Shaggydog’s distinctive shape through the swirling snow being kicked up by the blizzard winds, he started to pray; to the Old Gods, the new ones, to Bran back across the Wall and the ghosts of his parents and his brother.

_Please. Please, don’t let me have killed him. I can’t promise I suddenly understand how I feel about him or what I want from him, or that I’ll be able to accept it all of a sudden, but please. Mother, father, Robb; anyone who is listening, please don’t let me have killed him. Don’t let me have lost him. Please. I can’t lose anything else._

Shaggydog let out a sharp little bark, something like triumph bursting from him, and his pace quickened; and Rickon raced after him, fighting through the wind and snow, searching the ground desperately for any sign of the blonde King, half-waiting for the moment when Shaggy would stop and dig him out of the snow and half intending to find him first, drag him from the cold and hold him close like he should have done when he had tracked him down to his tent.

Shaggydog found him first, howling over the screaming wind; and Rickon skidded to a stop beside the Direwolf and the half-covered lump he was nosing and whining at. He dropped to his knees, brushing away the snow, digging through it with fingers that quickly turned numb, and finally remembered how to breathe when he found the young man trembling beneath it, pale as the drift he was buried in but very alive, and still shaking.

“Tommen.” He whispered, breathless with relief, hands shaking as he reached to touch at the young man’s hair, at his pale cheeks and blue lips; and he stripped off his cloak hurriedly to wrap it tightly around Tommen when he pulled him upright, balancing him against his chest. From where he’d dropped to kneel beside him Nibs reached out to take Tommen’s shaking hands, gently turning them in his, and examined them closely; and after a moment he let out a breath of relief.

“No signs of frostbite.” He murmured. Rickon bit back the sharp retort he wanted to make, his urge to remind Nibs that of the two of them he was more likely to know if Tommen had frostbite, to take out his anger on someone other than himself, because now was _not the time_. Not with Tommen shaking in his arms, not with him unconscious against him, tears frozen to his cheeks but still falling. Instead, he hefted the unconscious man into his arms, cradling him close to his chest when the wind battered them seemingly from all sides.

“If we want things to remain that way we need to get him back fast; I can get him warm again before the sickness sets in.” Nibs nodded, also climbing to his feet, but Rickon froze for a moment when Tommen stirred, pressing against his chest as he started trembling harder. A series of possible scenarios assailed him; Tommen opening his eyes, scrambling out of Rickon’s arms and over to Nibs, physical proof of how Rickon had likely ruined things between them forever; Tommen fighting them both off, demanding they leave him in the snow; Tommen staring up at him, eyes so hurt, so soft and blue and _broken_ , flooding with anger like tears before he shut them and looked away from Rickon.

When he spoke, though, eyelashes fluttering but eyes remaining shut, it was not about Rickon.

“‘Cella?” He mumbled the nickname through chattering teeth, still obviously unconscious, and Rickon held him a little closer.

His chest ached.

“I’m afraid it’s just me. Sorry to keep disappointing you, Tommen.” He whispered the words down at him, and held him as close as he could, wishing that he had some way to find Myrcella, to give Tommen the person he wanted instead of lingering as a likely unwanted second-best.

The shivering man just buried his face in his chest; and Rickon swallowed before starting to run back toward camp, carefully avoiding Nibs’ eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. Almost missed the update for a second week in a row. *laughs nervously*  
> This is the last chapter of angst kids, so GET EXCITED.  
> As always, please leave me comments! They'll remind me not to miss update deadlines. :p

Consciousness seemed to wait just beyond the reach of his fingertips, drifting just close enough for him to register snippets of conversation before moving away, so he was again just cold, left in darkness as he felt himself shake.

What Tommen did hear of the conversations around him didn’t register, didn’t quite make sense; he felt slow and stupid with the cold, but listened regardless, absently thinking that later, when he was back to himself, he could think of them again and decipher their meaning.

_ ….your fault….upset him, sent...running into a storm! ...monster… _

Loras’ voice, thick with contempt; and a reply Tommen more felt than heard, vibrations against his ear that didn’t quite translate into words.

Loras scoffed, and his voice adopted an edge.

_ You...leave him, anyway, you won’t….break...wanted all along….broken….vulnerable….never forgive you… _

The vibrations came again; and Tommen wanted to turn his face into them, sink into the almost searing warmth he was resting against, hide from the seething anger and sharp bitterness and cruelty in Loras’ words, escape the sinking feeling that he knew what the Kingsguard was talking about, who he was talking to, what he meant.

He couldn’t, though; couldn’t feel more than the heat he was pressed against, the shaking of his very bones, couldn’t turn or touch or even speak.

So instead he just whimpered very softly, a weak attempt to tell Loras to  _ shut up _ , to take his ire elsewhere and leave him to the cold clinging to him and the burning heat he wanted to crawl inside of; and whatever he was leaning against moved, vibrated with more words he didn’t hear as he slid back into unconsciousness.

When he slipped back again, things were a little clearer; but he still hadn’t the strength to move, to even open his eyes.

Tommen let himself be shifted by warm, long fingered hands, and he listened.

“What are you doing?” Nibs’ voice, quietly concerned but also cold, angry.

“He needs to get warm fast, so the fever doesn’t set in; the only way to do that is through body heat, skin to skin contact. I’ve upset him enough, what’s one more infraction?” The last words were muttered, but Tommen couldn’t quite recognise the voice, shrank away from the almost-suggestions of who it could be. He just listened, felt fingers pulling at the ties of his shirt, stripping him free of it so his skin prickled with the heat of a fire.

It was his bones that were cold, he thought absently. His skin was fine, was warm enough; he needed to be warmed down to his bones.

“....he’s not hard. Not like you. By all rights he should be by now, after everything he’s gone through, but he’s not. He trusts people, strives to see the good in them; and he gets attached.” The reply was clipped, close to Tommen’s ear, and he felt warm breath against his cheek before it was gone.

“What are you trying to say, Nibs?” Tommen wanted to pull away from the edge in the voice, but he couldn’t. Could only listen to Nibs respond, ache with cold, wait.

“I’m trying to say that though his intentions were wrong, and that he had no right to say the things he did, Loras was telling the truth. If you don’t sort yourself out you’re just going to keep hurting him; and until you’ve thought things through, decided what you want and what you’re willing to give up, you can’t stake a claim on him. It isn’t fair.” 

Silence.

Tommen wanted to be unconscious again. He didn’t want to hear this, even while the identity of the person he was leaning against eluded him, even as he refused to guess who it was that was holding him. He’d rather be unconscious, unable to hear what was being said over him.

“...I don’t know how to separate him from the things they did.” Nibs made a soft noise that almost sounded like laughter; but Tommen knew better, knew that soft bark of sound was sarcastic, cold, unhappy.

“He isn’t them. You realise that, and  _ then _ you can separate him from it. You’re not the only one who suffered at the hands of his family; you’re just the only one who can’t seem to figure out that he’s not  _ them _ .” Tommen slid so sharply back into unconsciousness that for a second he thought that he’d succeeded, that he’d managed to force himself away from the conversation being had over him.

When awareness returned to him again, it came slowly; seeped in inches at a time, so Tommen became aware of things in stages, one after another.

First, he realised he’d stopped shaking, that the cold that had seemed a part of him had finally faded. He could feel all his extremities, fingers and toes; and he was warm, everywhere. He could feel the heat of a fire licking at his face, and then he could hear it, the soft  _ popping _ of the wood,

After a moment longer he could see it, first just orange through his eyelids and then bright, not far from where he was curled up on the floor of an unfamiliar tent, devouring a pile of wood.

Tommen stared at it for a long moment before he absorbed other details about his current situation.

There were furs wrapped securely around him, but they didn’t touch his back; whatever it was he’d been leant against was smooth, emitting its own heat.

Breathing.

He shut his eyes again as he acknowledged the arms wrapped around his waist, knuckles grazing his sides every time he breathed. Legs bracketed his, crossed at the ankles under where his knees has been coaxed up against his chest, so he was sat in the cradle of his rescuer’s hips.

The fact he’d been stripped naked, that his companion was the same, was an afterthought; he knew how you were supposed to treat the fever that came with being out in the snow too long, knew it required body heat, knew that body heat was restricted by clothing.

It didn’t make him any happier about his companion, but. It staved off any anger or embarrassment.

Rickon’s breath was warm against the back of his neck, and Tommen resisted the urge to tilt his head so that it might spread, to lean back against him, match their breaths and heartbeats.

“I know that you’re awake. Your breathing has changed.” Tommen didn’t reply, simply continued to watch the fire. When Rickon leaned around to look at him, he glanced around enough that they could meet eyes, watch each other for a moment, before Tommen turned back to the flames.

Rickon seemed to fight words for a moment, before they burst out of him.

“How could you be so stupid?” Tommen flinched, but didn’t reply; not that Rickon gave him the time to, continuing while his arms tightened around Tommen instinctively.

“You marched into a snowstorm without even  _ gloves _ , walked too far for anyone to track. Even I wouldn’t have been able to find you if I’d not had Shaggydog, if he’d not been able to pick up your scent on the wind.” Tommen frowned a little.

“You’re the one who found me?” His voice rasped, and it made him wince a little to hear; and Rickon stiffened ever so slightly behind him, before the tension seeped out of him, and he sighed.

“Yes. I did. Nibs told me you were missing, and I tracked you down and dug you out of the snow.” Tommen nodded silently before letting out a breath and dropping his head, staring down at his hands as he pulled them from the shelter of the furs. 

All still there; all ten.

“Why did you come for me?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, and when Rickon didn’t immediately respond he continued, voice still soft, eyes locked on his hands.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing, Rickon. You can’t- you can’t act like being in the same room as me is painful for you, like who I am, what my family did is too much for you to move past, and then flip to saving my life and stripping for the sake of my extremities. I can’t keep up with that, with you. It’s too hard trying to figure out what any of it means.” Rickon let out a breath, and it swept over Tommen’s shoulder, drawing the barest shiver from him before the other man attempted to speak.

“Tommen…” He started, before apparently failing to find the words.

It was enough of a confirmation, and Tommen pulled out of his grip and the shell of warmth under the furs, reaching for where he could see someone had laid out fresh clothes for him.

"I'm going back to my tent." Rickon made an attempt to reach for him, but seemingly caught himself at the last moment, dropping his hand.

"This is hard for me too. I don’t know- I can't-" He cut himself off with a growl of frustration, and Tommen paused halfway through pulling on his shirt, glancing back at the other man.

He took pains to keep his voice gentle. 

"That's exactly the problem, Rickon. You don’t know what you want; or if you do, you don’t know how to handle it along with your other feelings. And I do understand that; but I can’t wait for you to make up your mind, or figure things out. It hurts too much.” He retrieved his cloak, wrapping it securely around his shoulders and starting for the exit; before pausing, swallowing thickly and frowning at the floor.

“I’m going to leave tomorrow. Martyn and three others of my escort will stay, to help finish organising the North’s independence, but I’m going to return to King’s Landing. If you have to talk to me directly about anything, you can send a raven.” Rickon didn’t reply, just stared at him, disbelief growing in his face; and Tommen glanced back at him once, before summoning his courage and leaving the tent.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've noticed by now that the rating has gone up. Eheheheheh. Enjoy the temporary end to angst, loves; and please, PLEASE leave me comments.
> 
> WARNINGS; Almost four and a half k of smut. Obviously. In-world use of the word 'whore'.

Tommen sighed to himself and sank a little further into his bath water, staring at the ripples the move caused and frowning a little to himself.

He wasn’t sure if he’d handled things well; if giving Rickon an ultimatum like that, if deciding to leave the next day was the right move. He hadn’t lied, dealing with Rickon’s flipping moods was too much, hurt too much for him to see sticking around as a viable option, but there was a large part of him that wondered whether giving him a little more time, waiting a little longer wouldn’t be the worst idea.

He had the sneaking suspicion it was the same part that had made him stick around Loras for so long, and he didn’t want to listen to that voice in his head ever again. All it had ever caused him was heartache.

Tommen sighed again, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes. He’d go, like he’d said he would. And he’d hate it, because beyond any romantic feelings he might have had Rickon was first and foremost a good friend, and he’d miss him; but in the long term it would be better for them both.

Better for them to part now, hearts intact, than later when one or both of them had gotten hurt and ruling cooperatively became that much harder.

A gust of cold air swept through the tent when the flap opened with someone’s arrival, and Tommen shivered, shrinking away from it and into the warm water even while his irritation rose.

“I told you to leave me alone, Loras.” He muttered, pushing fingers back through his hair; but the voice that met his ears wasn’t Loras’, and he turned around sharply, eyes wide and startled.

“Don’t leave.” Tommen stared at Rickon, mouth open, trying to process his presence in his tent, but he failed before Rickon started to speak again, stepping closer to him.

“Tommen, don’t leave. Don’t.” They stared at each other for a long moment; before Tommen’s expression broke, softened and sank as he turned his face away.

“Rickon…” He started, but the youngest Stark child closed the rest of the distance between them, cut over him frantically, something desperate in his voice.

“ _Please._  I know that I keep- that I keep fucking up, but please don’t leave. Not yet.” Tommen stared up at him, and then pushed to his feet, something in his chest solidifying while he met Rickon’s eyes steadily, climbing out of the bath Nibs had tracked down for him.

“Why.” Rickon startled at the word, blinked at him, visibly restraining himself from looking Tommen up and down now he was stood before him.

Tommen kept speaking, stepping closer.

“Give me a reason to stay. Otherwise I’m gone. Give me a reason, or by the time you wake up tomorrow morning I will be riding down the Kingsroad, away from you.” Rickon’s mouth opened and closed, words failing him, and his hands moved helplessly at his sides. Tommen just looked at him for a moment; before speaking very softly, voice earnest, almost pleading.

“Do you want me, Rickon?” Something settled in Rickon’s eyes; and he lifted his hands to take Tommen’s face in them, pressing forward to kiss him hard on the lips.

Tommen immediately pushed into the kiss, sliding his fingers into Rickon’s hair and pressing against him, gasping softly against his mouth when he pushed back.

Rickon broke away for just a second, and Tommen followed him deliriously, whining in protest; only for Rickon to murmur words against his mouth that made his heart jump in his chest.

“Yes. _Yes_ , I want you.” Tommen made a soft, wordless noise of relief, a tiny cry that just meant _finally_ , and kissed Rickon hard, letting him lick into his mouth and sighing against him when his hands slid down the bare skin of his back. Rickon caught his hips, started to coax him back toward the pile of furs that served as his bed, while Tommen tugged eagerly at the ties on his cloak, and then those on his shirt when that item of clothing fell to the floor, greedily spreading his fingers over the newly exposed skin while Rickon ducked his head to mouth at his chest, _taste._

His teeth scraped across Tommen’s collarbone and the blonde groaned softly, pushing Rickon’s shirt back off his shoulders and letting himself be pressed further back toward his bed, Rickon dragging his knuckles down the length of his spine and resting them teasingly at his tailbone, sucking kisses that would likely bruise into the soft flesh of his throat.

Tommen grasped his shoulders, trying to gain a hold on himself, but instead ended up helplessly skating his hands over Rickon’s skin, fingertips catching on scars before he hooked them in the waistband of his breeches, catching the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth when Rickon pressed a series of wet, sucking kisses to his mouth.

He dragged in an attempt at a steadying breath, and murmured against Rickon’s mouth.

“Rickon…” He made a vague, distracted noise in response, dragged his tongue over Tommen’s clavicle; and Tommen gasped weakly, head dropping back while he gripped Rickon’s arms to ground himself, arching into the hot press of his parted lips while he stammered words.

“Rickon, w-wait-” He growled against Tommen’s throat impatiently, and Tommen’s ankles hit the edge of his makeshift bed the moment before Rickon pressed him down on top of it, dragging his lips across his cheek to mutter into his ear.

“I’m trying to make up for being an idiot; _stop talking_.” Tommen let out a breathless, semi-hysterical burst of laughter, and groaned softly when Rickon started to kiss down his chest, palms sliding over his hips until he shifted his hands under Tommen’s ass, dragging his hips closer so they were flush with Rickon’s still clothed ones.

Tommen reached out to catch his wrists; and he finally seemed to take him seriously, blinking down at him with a growing frown.

“Do- do you not want-” Tommen cut over him gently, still breathless and trembling a little.

“I assumed that when you said you’re making up for it, you also meant you weren’t going to be an idiot any more.” A flush spread across Rickon’s cheeks, and Tommen immediately grinned, delighted with the spread of colour, before pushing up so Rickon was knelt between the splay of his thighs rather than leaning over him, so he could nose at his cheek gently before speaking.

“Have you done this before, Rickon?” The redhead nodded sharply, stroking his knuckles up and down the outsides of Tommen’s thighs, and Tommen smiled briefly.

“Let me be clear; you’ve fucked boys before. More than once.” Rickon’s blush spread down his neck and Tommen pressed the grin it prompted to his cheek, kissing him there softly when he whined quietly in protest and then replied.

“Yes. Though right now I just want to fuck _you_.” Tommen hummed softly in approval, momentarily distracted by the promise in his words, and then pulled back enough to meet Rickon’s eyes, mouth quirking a little.

“What are we missing, Rickon?” The other man blinked back at him, lost for a moment as to what Tommen could mean; but when he arched an eyebrow at him comprehension dawned in his eyes, and he looked around distractedly, hands pausing on Tommen’s hips.

“Do you have-?” Tommen nodded with a smile, and kissed him softly on the mouth before pushing to his feet.

“Do you want to take the rest of your clothes off, maybe?” A grin spread across Rickon’s face even while his blush lingered, and he pressed a kiss to Tommen’s hip, keeping their eyes locked.

Tommen’s breath hitched at the gesture, and he ducked down to kiss Rickon hard, licking into his mouth and swallowing the startled noise he made.

“Stop that.” He muttered against his lips, and Rickon’s soft laugh made him grin before stepping away, heading for the bags sat at the edge of the tent and the little clay jar he knew was there.

By the time he’d found it, Rickon had done as he’d asked, stripped off his boots and breeches and set them aside, along with the rest of his clothes; and Tommen paused, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes flicked over all the pale skin now bare to his eyes.

He wanted to taste every last, glorious inch; but that could - _would_ , hopefully - happen later.

Right now he wanted something else more.

Rickon caught the backs of his knees when he was close enough, prompted him to settle in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and pressed a sucking kiss to his bottom lip, biting down gently before speaking.

“How do you want to do this?” Tommen licked across his bottom lip to taste the remnants of Rickon left there, before pressing the jar into his hand, meeting his eyes steadily.

“I want to feel your fingers inside me.” He stated; and Rickon groaned, gripping the jar tightly in one hand while the fingers of his other tightened on Tommen’s hip, hard enough to leave bruises. Tommen grinned, kissed at his mouth and down his jaw, before pulling up in time to watch Rickon dip his fingers into the thick, transparent green liquid in the jar.

Much as Westerosi men liked to joke about Dornishmen and olive oil, it wasn’t actually practical, was passed over in favour of a clear, cold liquid found in waterside plants in the Riverlands.

One of Tommen’s more eccentric endeavours had been exploring the properties of the liquid, it’s drawbacks, and with the help of a couple of discrete maesters and the male whores of Kings Landing’s brothels, he’d figured out how to infuse the lubricant with medicinal herbs that fought sexually transmitted diseases, without lessening the experience itself.

He was absurdly proud of how he’d improved the health and happiness of men who shared his preferences; but when Rickon pressed his first slick finger against him, teased at sliding it inside of him, he couldn’t care less about anyone else.

He gripped Rickon’s shoulders, tipping his head forward a little and circling his hips back against Rickon’s touch, and the other man smirked slightly before the expression faded, and he leaned it to press a clinging kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” He asked softly, studying Tommen’s face. Tommen smiled and nodded, moving to rest their foreheads together; and then gasped, eyes going round when Rickon pushed his first finger into him, the easy slide of it mixed with the roughness of his callouses dragging against Tommen’s hole startling.

He rocked back against his hand helplessly, clung to him and mewled softly when Rickon curled the finger inside him, eyelashes fluttering while his breaths got heavier.

“Fuck.” Rickon muttered the word, set the jar aside in favour of gripping the back of Tommen’s neck and pulling him into a kiss, swallowing the desperate noises he made when Rickon teased at sliding another finger into him.

“Please.” He whispered, sliding his hands up into Rickon’s hair. Tommen’s mouth dropped open when Rickon acquiesced, and he muffled his moan in the crease of Rickon’s neck while his spine arched, rocking back against the warmth of the palm of his hand. He soothed the bruise he’d bitten into the younger man’s neck with his tongue, smudging his lips over it with dazed, distracted kisses, only to whimper sharply and press his forehead to the warmth there when Rickon curled and spread his fingers, stretching him open.

“Do you need another?” Rickon purred the words into Tommen’s ear, voice unaffected, as if his cock wasn’t leaking precome where it curved up toward his belly, as if he wasn’t as desperately hard as Tommen was. Tommen cried out a little when Rickon’s fingers pressed deeper, when the longer of the two brushed a part of him that made pleasure shoot through him, and tugged helplessly on the other man’s hair as he tried to collect himself enough to speak. The idea of leaving it at two fingers, of being stretched open on Rickon’s cock and still being able to feel him after they were done, of the delicious ache between his legs that would come after, was almost too much to resist.

But it had been a long time; too long for him to be willing to risk Rickon hurting him by accident.

Tommen nosed at his cheek and spoke softly, voice trembling slightly.

“O-one more.” Rickon nodded quietly, turned his head so he could kiss him as he eased in a third finger; and Tommen shuddered before his head dropped back, eyes sliding shut while he gripped the sides of Rickon’s neck as the other man kissed at his chest, dragged his tongue over the bruises starting to blossom where his teeth had scraped across the skin minutes earlier. Rickon ducked his head, mouthing sloppily at one of Tommen’s nipples so he moaned at the same moment as he pressed his fingers into Tommen as deep as they would go, rubbing firm circles over the spot inside him that made him tremble, sob softly and pull on Rickon’s hair desperately.

“S-Seven Hells.” Tommen gasped, head dropping forwards; and Rickon looked back up at him, lips spit-shiny and inviting as he licked them and spoke, voice rough and finally giving away how equally affected he was by Tommen’s helpless, instinctive little movements against his hand.

“Are you- do, do you think-?” Tommen nodded frantically, took Rickon’s face in his hands and breathed his words against his mouth.

“Fuck me, Rickon.” Rickon groaned softly, accepted Tommen’s kiss, and then dragged his fingers out of him before he almost threw him back on his furs, cutting his moan off halfway through as he settled over him, one hand on Tommen’s hip to line himself up while the other settled beside his head, so he could balance over him. Tommen held his eyes as he wrapped his legs around his hips, caught his bottom lip between his teeth and threaded his fingers through the fur beneath them, before he nodded his head a little, and Rickon took a deep breath.

He slid into Tommen with an easy, practiced roll of his hips; and Tommen almost sobbed, clinging to the furs beneath them as if for dear life while his spine arched and the grip of his legs tightened, heels at the dip of Rickon’s spine coaxing him as deep as he could get. Rickon muffled his moan in the side of Tommen’s throat, bit down lightly; and when Tommen experimentally rolled his hips Rickon’s jerked, canting upward so Tommen gasped and chased the friction instinctively, hands flying to grip Rickon’s shoulders. The other man pushed into him in response, pulled part of the way out before thrusting back in sharply, so Tommen whined and dragged blunt nails down the length of his back, and Rickon rested on forearms set either side of Tommen’s head as he settled into a steady pace of fucking into Tommen, hard and too quickly for the blonde to really be able to catch his breath between thrusts.

“G-Gods, why did I take so _fucking long_?” He gasped the question against Tommen’s throat, but the other man just shook his head wordlessly, twisting his fingers into Rickon’s hair and tugging helplessly, too far gone to have the mental capability to form a coherent sentence at that point. He lifted his hips with Rickon’s next thrust, changing the angle ever so slightly; and cried out when the move caused Rickon to slam into that spot inside of him, shaking and dropping his head back while his mouth dropped open. He barely noticed when Rickon slipped a hand beneath his lower back to keep his hips in that same position, so every thrust forced him closer to his climax that much faster; instead Tommen just clung to his shoulders desperately, trying his hardest to speak.

“I-I’m g-gon- R-Rickon, _f-f-fuck_ , I-I-” Rickon nodded wordlessly, rhythm growing sloppy and a little more frantic as he approached his own orgasm, and sucked sloppily at Tommen’s collarbone.

“Come w- _with_ me. Tommen, _Tommen, come-_ ” Rickon cut himself off with a gasp, buried his face in the side of Tommen’s throat; and Tommen’s teeth sank into his bottom lip. It was his name, sounding like a sentence all it’s own in Rickon’s mouth, that pushed Tommen over the edge, and he cried out, Rickon’s name bursting out of him while his legs tightened around his hips, holding him as deep as possible while his orgasm made him tighten around Rickon’s cock. Rickon followed immediately after him, groaned into the skin over his heart as he came inside him, and they gasped through their aftershocks together, Tommen absently carding his fingers through Rickon’s hair and dragging his knuckles down over the backs of his shoulders and the red lines scored there by his blunt nails while the redhead mouthed at his skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses over his heart. Rickon stretched back up to kiss him, sipping at his mouth as they both came down, tongue lazily flicking to touch at the swell of his kiss-bruised bottom lip, make it sting a little; before he pulled out and rolled off of Tommen, blinking up at the roof of the tent silently.

They were both quiet for a long moment, the euphoria of what they’d just done seeping out of them slowly; and then Tommen spoke, voice a little rough from the noises Rickon had dragged from him.

“Are you going to leave now? Do you want to go?” The ghost of an old conversation Tommen felt like he’d half heard flicked across Rickon’s face, and he turned his head enough to look at Tommen, eyes gentle and pensive.

“Do _you_ want me to?” Tommen let out a soft, semi-hysterical laugh, and pressed his hands to his face. His voice was thick with frustration when he replied.

“ _No._ I want you to stay. But that’s not what I asked. I asked if it’s what _you_ want; and if it is, you should go now, before things get...complicated. And I’ll still leave tomorrow.” Rickon rolled toward him, expression alarmed, and reached out to catch his wrist.

“I don’t want _you_ to leave.” He stated, frowning at Tommen; and Tommen glanced back at him, pulling his hands away from his face and out of Rickon’s grip so he could watch him steadily, expression tired.

“Then _tell me what you want_ . Other than me, of course, because you’ve now _had_ me, and I’m not going to let myself get my hopes up believing you meant to say you want me for longer than just one night; every time I do that I just end up getting hurt, and I am _done_ letting boys hurt me like that. What do you _want_?” Tommen’s chest flushed with embarrassment at the desperate, almost hysterical tone his voice took as he finished speaking, but he didn’t take it back; and where Rickon’s hand had settled against his collarbone the other man moved it so his fingers rested on the side of Tommen’s neck, his thumb just touching the curve of his jaw.

He watched him silently for a long moment, a slight frown lingering on his face, before finally speaking.

“I want you to stay.” He stated truthfully, eyes softening.

“I want you to stay, and work with me to make the North independant again. I want you to stay with me, like this; I want to finally move past what happened to my family, so I can stop looking at you and seeing your brother, because you’re _not_ him, and you shouldn’t have to carry the guilt of the things he or anyone else did. I want to hunt with you again, and learn how you take care of Westeros, and end every day laying beside you; and I want to have sex with you again, because that was even better than I imagined it would be.” Tommen shut his eyes, helpless to the smile creeping across his mouth and the way his flush darkened and crept up the column of his throat, and Rickon laughed softly, shifting beside him. When Tommen opened his eyes he’d moved so he was balanced over him, pale eyes holding Tommen’s steadily, and his expression turned serious as he continued.

“I can’t promise any of this will be easy, because I _am_ an idiot, and in a lot of ways you scare me; you make me want things I was very sure I shouldn’t, up until I met you. But I am going to steal you. You’re _mine_. And we can...suffer through any issues that arise together.” He caressed Tommen’s jaw with his thumb gently, studying his face and patiently waiting for an answer; and Tommen sighed, all the breath leaving him in a rush, and placed his hands on Rickon’s chest, the barest smile creeping across his lips.

“You’re going to steal me, are you?” Rickon’s smiled widened, as his hand shifted so he could drag the pad of his thumb across Tommen’s bottom lip gently.

“The Free Folk take what they want, and Stark or not they raised me from when I was seven years old. I want _you_ ; indefinitely. So yes, I’m stealing you. You are _mine_ , Tommen Baratheon.” He leant down to kiss Tommen softly, catching his bottom lip between both of his and tugging lightly until Tommen’s mouth opened on a sigh and he could lick past his teeth, and Tommen groaned, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him back.

When the kiss broke they spent a moment just resting against each other, swapping breaths, and Tommen hummed softly.

“You’re mine as well, you know. I won’t be owned; I’ll do a lot of things for you but I won’t let you own me. So if I’m yours, you’re mine.” Rickon nodded, smudging a gentle kiss onto the corner of Tommen’s mouth, before he shifted their position, so he could hold Tommen tightly against his chest, bury his face in his hair while the blonde’s breath fanned across his throat.

Tommen dragged a blanket over them and wrapped his arms around Rickon’s waist, relishing the warmth of him and not-yet letting himself drink in the reality of his being _allowed_ this, being allowed _Rickon_. For a long moment he was just content, nosing quietly at Rickon’s throat and smiling when the younger man stroked his fingers up and down his spine; but then his thoughts caught on something Rickon had said, and he frowned a little.

“I do carry their guilt.” He murmured; and when Rickon pulled back enough to frown at him he kept his eyes lowered, speaking softly.

“I may not have been responsible, I may not carry the blame for everything Joffrey and my mother did, but I still carry the guilt of it. I’ve spent almost eight years trying to make up for everything they did, everything they took; I’ll spend the rest of my life making amends for their crimes.” He looked up, meeting Rickon’s eyes steadily and catching his protests with his fingertips before they could be voiced.

“Nothing you can say is going to change things. I will always feel partially responsible, I will always try to right their wrongs, even if arguably it’s not my job to do so. You just need to understand, to really understand that some of the decisions I make are made to try and fix the things they broke. I wouldn’t have come here so lightly guarded if I didn’t feel guilty for what Joffrey did your family; I would never have stood there and offered to let you kill me if I didn’t feel guilty. And you don’t have to agree with that part of who I am, you just have to accept it.” Rickon frowned at him and trailed his knuckles down his cheek, studying his face.

“You’re not to blame for anything they did.” He stated carefully, confidence in his words growing as he spoke them; and Tommen nodded a little, pressing closer to him.

“I know that. And a part of me knows I couldn’t have stopped them, even if I tried; but I _still_ feel that guilt, and I still...if this is going to work, if you really want to keep me, you should accept that I can’t find a way of making your seeing past Joffrey and my mother being related to me any easier. I don’t know how, not when even I sometimes condemn myself for them.” Rickon’s grip tightened on him, and he rested their foreheads together, holding Tommen’s eyes.

“We’ll work past this together. I won’t let you spend the rest of your life running yourself ragged because of family members you couldn’t help.” His mouth quirked a little, and Tommen sighed before stretching to kiss him softly.

“Don’t set your hopes too high, Rickon Stark. Some things can’t be fixed.” Rickon studied him when he pulled away, and stroked his thumb over his cheek.

“Who said you were broken in the first place?” Tommen softened, the gratitude and surprise at Rickon’s words leaving him breathless; and when Rickon pulled him back into another stinging kiss he went happily, clinging to his shoulders.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't this so nice? Just happy boyfriends fucking, isn't it wonderful? Aren't we enjoying this so, so much? Wouldn't it be great if everything could just stay this nice, hmm? That would be so great. Aha.
> 
> PLEASE leave a comment
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: minor suggestion of unapproved voyeurism; shirking of responsibilities; fucking on the floor.

Tommen murmured wordlessly as he was coaxed out of sleep by the gentle pressure of fingers running down the bare skin of his back, walking over the bumps of his spine and drawing aimless circles all the way down to his tailbone. For a moment he was successfully tempted, answering the siren call of a palm pressed solidly to the base of his spine, tilting his hips into the touch and humming, pleased by it.

But then he recalled that the touches, however pleasant, were dragging him slowly away from sleep; and he made a rough, displeased noise, turning his face into the furs beneath him and dropping his hips.

No. He would not fall for that.

The end of a cold nose pressed against his cheek.

“Tommen…” He knew that voice, adored it,  _ resented it _ in that moment more than he’d ever resented anything in his life; and he turned his face away from it, grumbling again and keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t be bribed into moving; and when the touches turned into kisses, a soft mouth dragging down the length of his spine, he clung to that resolution with both hands.

_ No. _

“Tommen, come hunt with me.” The words were followed by the unmistakable drag of a tongue up his spine, the scrape of teeth at the back of his neck, and he whined, pressing his face harder against the furs under him.

“No.” He mumbled, muscles beneath the skin of his back shifting involuntarily with the hot pressure of his companion’s mouth; and Rickon chuckled softly, slid a hand down to caress the curve of his ass gently as he purred into his ear.

“Lots of things we can do when we get back and Shaggydog’s been fed.” He promised; and Tommen pressed a little into his touch before slumping back onto his bed, shaking his head sluggishly.

“Sleep. Go feed Shaggydog alone; then you can come back and fuck me.” Rickon let out a sharp little breath against the side of Tommen’s neck, biting down lightly on his shoulder. Tommen hummed in response, sighing a little and then turning his head enough to smile sleepily at the other man.

“Or you could always forget hunting altogether and fuck me now?” Rickon gave him a Look, but moved in to nose at Tommen’s cheek, kiss at his jaw and lower as he replied.

“Shaggydog needs to eat, otherwise he’ll come in here and bother us.  _ Tommen _ , come hunt with me, it’s been a week since we last hunted together, we spent so  _ fucking long _ apart…” Tommen moaned softly when Rickon coaxed him onto his side, dragged his tongue over one of his nipples, and he slid his fingers into Rickon’s hair, tugged gently; but when he pulled him up to eye level his expression was soft, amused.

“I don’t think you want to start a conversation about whose fault that is, Rickon Stark.” Rickon scowled at him, and only dropped the expression when Tommen pressed a handful of soft kisses to his mouth, the touches gradually getting deeper until Tommen was licking into his mouth lazily, humming softly.

“You taste terrible.” He murmured offhandedly, but didn’t stop kissing him, sliding his hands from his hair to gently grip his shoulders; and Rickon snorted, wrapping an arm around Tommen’s waist and carefully leading him to his feet, coaxing him up by making him chase his lips.

“Come on.” He tried again, and for a moment Tommen let himself be led, let Rickon slide his fingers up his back and lead him closer to where they’d kicked their clothes the night before; before he caught Rickon’s ankle with his and tackled him, straddling his waist and holding himself over the breathless other man as he looked down at him, mouth quirking.

“ _ No. _ ” He stated, tone final, and he took a gentle hold of Rickon’s jaw, pressing back down to kiss him again.

Rickon sighed against his mouth, muttered ‘ _ impossible _ ’ against him, and Tommen grinned a little but deepened the kiss, running a hand down Rickon’s side absently. He followed a scar on his hip with the pad of his thumb, moved up until he touched the edge of a scar that ran all the way from the top of his shoulder to just over his heart, thinner scars either side hinting it had been inflicted by some animal with claws. Rickon hummed against his mouth, and then moved to suck kisses into the side of his throat, muttering words between kisses.

“Shadowcat. Vidia rescues them, I taunt them.” Tommen laughed breathlessly and threaded fingers through his hair, pulling him back to his mouth so he could press his grin to his lips.

“Of course you do.” He murmured, catching Rickon’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it gently before catching both his hands, pinning one over his head while he led the other to his mouth, touching his lips to his knuckles.

Rickon watched him quietly, the barest flush creeping across his cheeks involuntarily.

“You’re not going to hunt with me, are you.” His voice was dry, amused, and Tommen grinned softly; and when Rickon shifted Tommen’s hold on his hand enough that he could catch his bottom lip with his thumb, Tommen parted his lips so he could drag the tip of his tongue up the pad of Rickon’s thumb, holding his eyes as he did so. Rickon groaned softly, and his eyes slid shut.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Tommen paused, lips pressed to Rickon’s thumb, frowning a little, and then ducked down to kiss his lips softly, just a chaste peck that made Rickon chase him before he spoke.

“No.” He stated, quiet; and Rickon opened his eyes, watching him cautiously.

“No?” He asked, eyes especially gentle, and Tommen swallowed before ducking back down to rest their foreheads together, release the hand he didn’t have pinned to the ground and just breathe for a moment.

“No.” Tommen repeated, whispered, and Rickon ran his free hand down Tommen’s arm, over the smooth burn scars, rubbing gentle circles into the front of his shoulder. He followed the edges of the scars almost unconsciously, moved to trace the smaller ones on the side of Tommen’s chest, and then tilted his head to kiss him softly, so all the breath rushed out of Tommen.

“Stop thinking like that.” He stated against Tommen’s mouth; and Tommen made a soft, neutral little noise before dropping his chin to kiss Rickon’s jaw, and then down his chest.

He peered up at the other man through his eyelashes, and pressed his mouth to the middle of Rickon’s chest, watching his eyes darken.

“ _ Help me _ stop thinking?” Rickon groaned and tangled his fingers in Tommen’s hair, dragging him back into a kiss, but when he tried to flip their positions, press Tommen down against the ground, Tommen resisted. He caught his free hand, pinning it beside the other over his head, and grinned briefly against Rickon’s mouth.

“Not like that. Not yet.” He pressed a handful of soft, lingering kisses to Rickon’s lips before transferring his grip on his wrists to one hand, and lifting his fingers to his mouth, sucking on the first two and humming quietly. Tommen was acutely aware, when Rickon flexed his fingers, that he couldn’t really pin the other man with just one hand, and if he tried Rickon could flip their positions easily.

He didn’t, though, too enraptured by the way Tommen was sucking on his fingers, running his tongue over and around them until he judged them acceptably coated in saliva, and Rickon acceptably hard, cock straining against his stomach when Tommen chanced a glance down to check. He grinned a little; and then shifted to balance better on the hand pinning both of Rickon’s, pushing up to sit on his knees while he reached with his slick fingers to touch lightly at his hole, testing how open he still was after the  _ events _ of the night before.

Tommen’s first finger slid in easily, and he let out a breath, smiling a little to himself while his eyes fluttered shut; and his second was almost as easy, just drawing attention to the satisfying ache he’d not really noticed until that point. He curled them experimentally, crossed and twisted them inside of himself, and let out a startled, turned on little breath when he brushed the same sensitive spot inside himself Rickon had found the day before, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he rocked back on his hand, pushing his fingers deeper into himself to rub little circles against the spot, so his cock finished hardening, bumped against the flat of his stomach as he rocked sharply back against his palm.

Rickon muttered a soft  _ fuck _ from under him, his voice breathless and startled; and Tommen’s eyes flicked open, finding his and how his pupils had fully dialated, so there was only the barest ring of grey-blue to show their colour around the blackness. His fingers flexed, like he wanted to reach out,  _ touch _ ; but Tommen tightened his grip, dragging a soft groan that made him wonder about teasing and future nights or mornings together from Rickon’s throat. He swallowed thickly, dragged his fingers out of himself slowly so a soft, breathless whimper slipped out of his mouth, and then circled his fingers around Rickon, catching the precome beading on the head of his cock with his thumb so as to spread it down his length, slick him up a little without needing to move back to the jar by the bed.

Tommen swallowed as he shifted, moving to kneel more exactly over Rickon, over where his hand was moving over him slowly, holding him back from the edge, and his grip on Rickon’s wrists wavered slightly before he circled his fingers around the base of Rickon’s cock, eyes locked on where the other man’s chest was heaving, and slowly sank down onto him.

A soft, desperate noise slipped out of him as his hips settled against Rickon’s and he braced his free hand against the other man’s chest, the other skimming down the length of his arm before settling beside it, so he could hold himself steady; and then Tommen rolled his hips, just once, a slow shift that made his head drop back and his eyes slide closed. The shift in position, the  _ reaction _ , was immediate, Rickon surging up to catch him around the waist and at the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair; and Tommen breathed heavily against his mouth, relished the press of his fingers against his skin, before setting a steady pace, rolling his hips easily and clinging to Rickon’s shoulders.

The breath shuddered out of Rickon, ghosted across Tommen’s mouth while he moaned softly. He caught Tommen’s lips almost distractedly, the pressure not quite a kiss, simply a hot and desperate surge to try and keep them pressed together in as many ways as possible; and Tommen whimpered softly, moved his hips faster and fisted the fingers of one of his hands in Rickon’s hair, holding onto him as tightly as he could while he rode him, throwing his head back and gasping when Rickon’s hips stammered and jerked up against him.

Tommen ran his hands across Rickon’s skin almost absently, over his chest and shoulders, down his arms and back up, catching at his ribs and his back and clutching at him a little desperately, before he finally settled for wrapping his arms around Rickon’s neck, whining against his cheek, and then nodded frantically.

“N-now you- you can, can f-f- Rickon, fuck me,  _ fuck m-me, now, you can- _ ” Rickon twisted his hips sharply enough that Tommen cried out, the move turning them in the same way he’d attempted earlier but with the added bonus of his being inside of Tommen and pressing deeper into him, and he pressed him down onto the ground, just catching himself so he didn’t fall on top of Tommen and quickly settling into a sharp, frantic pace, chasing an orgasm Tommen had already pushed him half way towards. 

Tommen grasped desperately at anything he could get his hands on, the carpeted ground beneath them, Rickon’s shoulders and hair and the smooth skin of his back, pushed fingers into his own hair and pulled until it hurt, dragging a groan out of his throat. He was lost to almost everything other than the feel of Rickon against him,  _ inside _ him, the crash of their hips and the slide of Rickon’s palm against his skin when the other man hitched his leg a little higher around his waist so as to change the angle of his thrusts. His spine arched at the change, his head dropping back while he moaned, the sound almost tearing its way out of his throat; and he didn’t recognise the open tent flap, the figure stood there, all gold armour and white cloak and a mop of brown hair that didn’t register in his mind, didn’t even register as a person, watching Rickon fuck him on the floor of his tent.

He shut his eyes, concentrated on the heat of Rickon’s mouth against his throat for a moment and groaned; and when his eyes fluttered open again the flap was shut, the person he’d not honestly registered as such gone.

He pushed it from his mind, far beyond caring if someone had caught them together, and caught Rickon in a kiss, licking into his mouth as he locked his legs high around his hips, rolling up into Rickon’s next thrust, pulling him deeper and harder against him. It was enough; and all the breath shuddered out of Rickon as he came inside him, the younger man gasping his name into his skin while Tommen moaned softly, Rickon’s name breaking off before the sharp ‘k’ as it left his lips as he gasped through his own orgasm, eyes wide and fixed on the canopy above them.

Rickon rested heavily on top of him as they both came down, breathing raggedly against his throat, and Tommen hummed, happy with the weight of him and stroking fingertips over his skin gently, nosing at his hair.

“Better than hunting?” He asked, voice a rasp; and Rickon looked up before rolling his eyes, laughing softly.

“You’re an ass.” He retorted, and then buried his face in the side of Tommen’s neck, biting at him playfully before he finally pulled out and sat back on his heels, regarding Tommen and the grin spreading across his face with a kind of softness creeping into his eyes. Tommen pushed up on his elbows, cocked his head, and Rickon smiled back at him; and when Rickon ran his hand up his leg, knee to hip, he hummed softly, moving to rest a foot flat on the top of Rickon’s thigh.

Rickon’s fingers circled around his ankle, just a gentle and possessive pressure to the joint, and Tommen’s smile widened.

“Are you still stealing me, Rickon Stark?” Rickon adopted a mock-affronted expression, and his grip on Tommen’s ankle tightened.

“Have I not done so already?” He dragged Tommen closer by his ankle, grinning when he burst into laughter at the move and catching hold of his wrist to pull him upright, so he was jerked forward into sitting in his lap, straddling his hips and utterly breathless. Tommen grinned down at Rickon, let him kiss up at him and hummed happily into it, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and when Rickon caught his bottom lip and tugged on it with his teeth he let out a soft, pleased little gasp.

For a moment they just sat together, foreheads resting against one another, each breathing the other’s air while Tommen relished the warmth of Rickon’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist. It felt utterly silent for a long moment, like they were the only people in the world, like nothing could disturb them; but gradually the sound of the camp bled into the tent, the muted clamour of lives going on around them, laughter and a string of swear words Tommen was reasonably sure he knew the source of creeping in through the gaps in the canvas.

He sighed quietly, the spell broken, and nudged his nose against Rickon’s playfully, smiling when he snorted at the gesture.

“Am I really allowed this?” He whispered, breathed the words against Rickon’s mouth, against his cheek.

“Am I really allowed to be this happy? This at peace?” Rickon turned solemn, stroked his knuckles down Tommen’s cheek and met his eyes steadily before he replied, his voice equally soft but as earnest as Tommen had heard him.

“Do we not both deserve a little peace, a little happiness after everything else that’s happened in our lives?” Tommen studied his eyes, drank in the honesty there, and then smiled a little, nodding and taking Rickon’s face in his hands.

“Yes. After everything, yes, we deserve this.” Rickon pressed forward to kiss him soundly, and Tommen moaned into it, clung to his shoulders and licked into his mouth; and when they finally broke apart he laughed a little, breathless with the kiss.

“Three years younger but wiser than me at the same time. How did that happen?” Rickon sighed at him, shaking his head a little as he pressed a smattering of kisses to his lips and cheeks.

“Seven Hells, Tommen.” Tommen laughed, kissed the flush on his cheeks and whispered ‘adorable’ against the heated skin, and Rickon growled softly and pushed gently at his stomach, long fingers warm against him.

“Go fuck yourself, Baratheon.” He muttered, and Tommen grinned, snapped his teeth at him.

“I thought that was  _ your _ job,  _ Stark _ .” Rickon’s eyes darkened, and Tommen shuddered a little with the look, running his hands over his shoulders and down his arms while he murmured against the shell of his ear.

“Again?” He asked, anticipation curling in his abdomen; and Rickon dragged his knuckles down the length of his spine, fingertips pausing right at the very base so Tommen’s breath hitched, his hips jerking a little. He hummed quietly, tugged at Rickon’s earlobe with his teeth gently.

“I thought you had a Direwolf to feed?” He purred softly, dragging his hands down Rickon’s chest; and Rickon laid him down, reaching to curl his fingers around Tommen’s cock so he moaned, eyelashes fluttering.

“Shaggydog can wait.” Rickon murmured, lips at Tommen’s chest; and Tommen’s spine arched as he dragged his tongue over one of his nipples and started to stroke him, eyes sliding shut.

“Yes.” He breathed, almost hissed, nodding frantically.

“He can wait.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've let you bask in the happy long enough, I think. Let the Awful begin.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: In-world use of the word 'whore' as a slur, sexual assault, attempted rape, mention of past underage, suggestions of emotional manipulation/abuse. Please, _please_ take these warnings seriously. They will not be the last.

Tommen rested a little heavily against the silver barked tree beside him, eyes closed, just taking a moment to breathe; and then clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter that wanted to burst out of him, sinking down the trunk to crouch in the snow.

He could still feel Rickon’s hands on him like they’d left brands, feel the satisfying ache of him between his legs, the sting of bruises on his throat and chest left by Rickon’s mouth, and he wanted to cry with how it made happiness surge in his chest, how every little reminder was desperately precious to him. His skin was littered with reminders, memories that threatened to reduce him to chasing down Rickon and having him again, out in the snow, for anyone to find them together; and he couldn’t think of them, of the impulses that came with them, as anything other than perfect.

Tommen was  _ so happy _ . He was happier than he’d been in, in  _ years _ , happier than he’d been since- since-

Since before Margaery had left. Since the days after they’d finished creating the truce with Daenerys, when it had been the three of them together in the Stormlands, walking through the grass and talking to each other.

Tommen moved to rest a hand over his heart, feel the way it was racing against his palm; and then smiled to himself, ducking his head a little.

He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be really happy, to not have some problem lingering in the back of his mind, to not be caught between taking care of Westeros and fending off the wandering hands of a certain member of the Kingsguard. 

Tommen’s smile faded at the thought, at Loras suddenly jumping to the forefront of his mind; and he sighed.

He’d seen them. Now Tommen was away from Rickon’s near-intoxicating influence, now he could order his thoughts,  _ think _ , he was aware of that; that the man he’d seen in the doorway of his tent while Rickon had him laid out on the ground had been Loras, that he’d stood and stared for a long moment before leaving. It made his stomach turn, the thought of Loras watching them together - much as Tommen wanted the entire world to know that Rickon was his and he was Rickon’s it was  _ different _ for Loras to have caught them together and stayed to watch, even just for a moment. It was an invasion of privacy, a theft, almost, of something precious, something Loras had no right to - and the impulsive, reckless part of him wanted to track the knight down, confront him and shout at him and force through his  _ thick _ skull that he was not allowed that, not allowed to see that.

The rest of Tommen knew that it was better just to leave it, to leave the response at reiterating that Loras was not to come into his personal quarters without permission or announcement the next time they crossed paths. 

He already knew what Loras would be like; jealous, angry, reckless with the anger. Better to leave him, let him calm down and lick the wounds of no longer having that hold over him. Tommen would see him again soon enough - the camp wasn’t very big, and Loras would attend his meeting to discuss whatever letters he’d received that day - and he could smooth things over as much as was necessary then.

He hoped, idly, that Loras wouldn’t need much talking to, much placating; he lacked the patience for that particular part of Loras, and didn’t want to lose his friend, even temporarily.

Tommen pushed back to his feet, and went back to walking under the trees, pushing thoughts of the knight from his mind for the time being. He was taking a moment for himself while Rickon spoke with his people, to evaluate and bask in the last twelve hours of his life; Loras had no right to this moment. He had no claim to Tommen’s thoughts.

He was afforded a long, perfect moment to himself, walking through the snow and beneath the bare trees, turning his face into the sunlight.

And then a sharp, angry voice cut through the air, and he stopped walking, eyes sliding shut.

“He’s just going to leave you.” Tommen let out a breath, and ran a hand down his face before he turned to face Loras, keeping his expression neutral. The man wasn’t wearing his Kingsguard armour, just the soft leather underlayer and his cloak, but beyond that he looked an emotional mess, hands fisted and trembling against his sides, face flushed in anger, hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it.

A part of Tommen ached at Loras’ obvious turmoil; but a larger part of him was satisfied with it, almost glad.

Four years he’d spent letting Loras Tyrell break his heart. Loras feeling even a shadow of that pain felt almost like justice; like he was finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

Tommen fought the cruel impulse, and swallowed before replying.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.” Loras gritted his teeth, and spoke as if he’d not heard him.

“He’s going to  _ leave you _ . You think that  _ boy _ , that  _ child _ is going to follow you back to Kings Landing? Even if he wasn’t a Stark, didn’t instinctively hate you for your family, even if he wasn’t basically a Wildling, he’d still never follow you. You’ve made him King In The North, Tommen; he’ll  _ stay _ in the North.” Tommen didn’t quite manage to stop himself flinching at Loras’ words, looked away while his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath, forcibly calming himself, before replying carefully.

“Whether he leaves me or not, it’s none of your business; and you have no right to make judgements on his character. You don’t know him.” Loras scoffed harshly, and Tommen looked back at him, eyes narrowing. The Tyrell heir simply cocked his head, expression condescending.

“What, so you’re just going to let him have you while these negotiations last? Whore yourself for the new King in the North, what a  _ clever _ way to start a new era in Westeros Tommen you truly  _ are _ the King the Seven- oh, wait,  _ Six _ Kingdoms have been waiting for!” Tommen turned away when Loras’ voice picked up with his anger, at the snarl of  _ whore _ , but then spun back around to face him when he finished, his own temper sparking.

“Well better that than  _ whoring _ myself for a member of my Kingsguard! The Seven know that would end  _ dreadfully _ , it certainly did  _ last time! _ ” Loras stared at Tommen, before his expression darkened and went cold, and he took several steps closer.

Tommen stepped away, until he could reach and feel the smooth bark of the tree immediately behind him.

“You deserve better than a bitter child who will only abandon you.” He stated, voice serious; and Tommen’s response was sharp, thick with bitterness.

“Right. I deserve a jealous, perpetually heartbroken man who was never emotionally with me in the first place instead. I deserve  _ you _ , and four more years of trying not to flinch every time I cross paths with someone else you’re fucking. Who’d possibly want to be happy, however fleetingly, when they could instead be the miserable plaything of a man who swore to protect them? There’s no real choice to be made, is there Loras?” Loras snarled softly under his breath, and for a moment Tommen felt something suspiciously close to fear flare in his stomach, turn his insides cold, before he forced it away.

Loras wouldn’t hurt him; not really, not ever.

“I could be good to you, this time. I’ve learnt my lesson.” It was Tommen’s turn to scoff, and he regarded Loras with almost disbelief, shaking his head a little at him.

“You think I stopped having sex with you four years ago to teach you a  _ lesson _ ? I’d been trying to be rid of you since mere months after we first started sleeping together, when I was still fifteen. You never wanted to keep me, Loras, and you  _ still _ don’t, you’re just jealous because you saw me with Rickon. I don’t want someone with no intention to be loyal to me; and maybe you’re right, and after the North’s independence has been solidified and our time here is at an end myself and Rickon will go our separate ways, but Seven  _ Hells _ , at least while I’m _ with _ him, at least for that time I will not spend nights lying awake aware that he’s with someone else! He’s mine as much as I’m his, and you will  _ never  _ be capable of being in a relationship like that again.” Loras closed the last of the distance between them, and seized the collar of Tommen’s shirt tightly on either side of his throat; and when Tommen pushed at him, trying half heartedly to make him let go, Loras resisted, frowning down at him.

“I’m not like that anymore. You made your point.” Tommen sighed, the fight seeping out of him as he looked back at the other man, frowning softly.

“It was never about making a point; and this will never happen again. Let me go, Loras.” He saw the flash in the other man’s eyes a second before he ducked forward, felt his insides twist uncomfortably the second before Loras’ mouth crashed against Tommen’s and he kissed him; and Tommen shoved sharply at his chest, caught between the tree behind him and the man touching him without his permission, trying to get out words.

“Loras,  _ no- _ ” The Tyrell knight ignored him, pulled harshly at his shirt; and Tommen’s eyes widened in panic at the jerk of his hands, how he tore at the light ties on the front, loosening the topmost one.

“He doesn’t know you like I do.” Loras’ voice was petulant even as he grabbed at Tommen, and the younger man shoved at his chest again; only for his chest to go cold when Loras groped at the laces of his breeches, the panic vanishing for less that a second before rushing back in full force.

Tommen lashed out with a fist, and it slammed into Loras’ jaw, sent him tumbling across the snow while Tommen dropped and scrambled away from him, breathing heavily and staring at him while horror crept across his face. He couldn’t think beyond the panic still resonating through him, beyond the fear of Loras and his grasping, unwanted touch; beyond the  _ utter betrayal _ he felt growing inside him the longer he stared at the other man.

He’d  _ trusted _ him.

Loras touched at his jaw and winced, circling it slowly, before his eyes settled on Tommen and he reached for him with one hand, expression turning deceptively soft.

“Tommen-” The other man cut over him, voice thick but still sharp and unrelenting.

“Never touch me again.” Loras’ face dropped, but his hand didn’t, and he started to push to his feet, prompting Tommen to scramble to his and move further away, breaths picking up in pace and becoming ragged as he backed away from him.

“Tommen, please, I- I lo-” Tommen cut over him again, voice cracking, anger and betrayal seeping into his voice as he stared at the man he’d foolishly trusted with his life for over a decade.

“Love me? You don’t know  _ how _ to love someone, Loras! The part of you that did died with Renly! And maybe- maybe I don’t know how to be loved by another person, maybe I’ve as many problems as you but I still know what I want, and  _ you _ are not supposed to try to  _ force _ me to do anything I don’t! I don’t  _ want _ you! I don’t want to have sex with you, I don’t want you to touch me  _ ever _ again, and I certainly do not want you to r- _ rape me! _ ” His voice broke on the last words, a sob shuddering out of him; and he only calmed enough to keep himself from fleeing when the hand stretched out behind him touched fur and there was suddenly a Direwolf beside him, snarling softly as he watched Loras.

Loras looked at the creature warily before protesting.

“I never would have-” Tommen let out a laugh that sounded painful even to his own ears, effectively shutting the other man up; and he took a deep breath, running his hands down his face and trying to calm himself.

He scrubbed harshly at his eyes, and then met Loras’ gaze steadily, expression cold.

“If I had not forced you off of me, hadn’t punched you, would you have stopped?” Loras hesitated for a long moment, before trying to reach for Tommen again; and he only stopped when Shaggydog growled, low and threatening, baring sharp teeth at him.

“Tommen-” He tried again, but Tommen shook his head wordlessly, eyes hard and unforgiving even as they flooded with hot tears.

The inside of his chest cavity felt cold, like there was ice sitting in his veins, curling around his heart as he looked at Loras, and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“You have no right to address me by that name any more. You’re no longer my friend, and you’ve not been more than that for years. From this moment onwards you’re just another member of my Kingsguard.” Loras’ expression faltered, the hand held toward Tommen finally threatening to fall; and Tommen felt his resolve waver for a moment.

Then a gentle hand landed on his shoulder, a cold voice coming from the hand’s petite owner.

“I suggest you go, Ser Loras. I will protect your King.” The way the words were framed was almost a threat, and Vidia glared at Loras until he let out a frustrated snarl, and turned to storm away.

Tommen let his eyes slide shut the moment he was gone; and Vidia squeezed his shoulder gently, eyes soft on the side of his face.

He could almost taste all the questions she had, and the answers he knew he’d have to give turned his stomach, made him want to throw up; but instead of asking she just sighed, massaging his shoulder with her fingers in an attempt at comfort.

“Come along, little King of the South. Rickon is waiting for you in his tent.” Tommen nodded silently, and let himself be led.

-

All the tension seemed to seep out of Tommen as he took Rickon in, maps and letters spread out around him, a soft frown creasing his brow.

For the first time since they’d met again, Rickon actually looked his age; looked nineteen, puzzled and frustrated by the letters he was leafing through, soft and touchable in a way that made Tommen’s chest ache.

He should have been allowed to have this, Tommen thought suddenly; should have grown up in Winterfell, grown up to eventually hold a castle of his own somewhere, perhaps marry into the Mormont family and continue their line. He should have been allowed to be the same as any other youngest son, carving out a life for himself under the steady direction of his father.

Tommen never would have had him, would perhaps have seen him at the marriages of his siblings, perhaps even at his own, and perhaps….maybe, if the Gods were kind...but they would never have been together. Not for longer than a night, likely; perhaps not even for that.

Rickon should not have had to grow up hard; seeing him so soft, so gentle and troubled only by simple problems should not have been a novelty.

Tommen’s chest  _ ached _ .

Rickon paused with his hand lingering over a letter, lifted his eyes; and a corner of his mouth curled up when he saw Tommen, pleased and slightly amused.

“What are you doing?” Tommen just looked at him silently for a moment, before returning the smile, losing the last of the tension that he hadn’t upon just seeing Rickon.

“Just watching you.” He offered; and Rickon snorted, shaking his head and grinning before he turned back to the letters.

“I’ve been thinking about Moat Cailin, and I think the only way to solve this problem is by making it neutral, as it sits right on the proposed border. It could be given to the Night’s Watch, fitted as a place to train new recruits rather than sending them all straight to Castle Black. It could take some strain off them, and it would put this issue at an end, because if it’s left for the North or South to claim it’ll be an unfair advantage to whoever claims it should there ever be another war.” Rickon glanced back up at him and grinned.

“Not that there will be one coming.” All the breath rushed out of Tommen, and he shook his head a little in disbelief.

“You’re going to be such a great King.” Rickon's grin faded, confusion creeping into his expression; but Tommen didn't offer explanation, couldn't, just kept speaking.

“Really. Robb would have been a good King, there’s no disputing that, anyone in your family would have been so good for the North, but you’re going to be great in a way they never would have quite managed.” Tommen could feel the way his voice was hitching a little, could feel the air catching in his throat, and he watched as Rickon’s expression shifted into real concern and he pushed to his feet, stepping over letters to approach him.

“No one else could of thought of that, with Moat Cailin, or thought of cutting the Gift in half and having the Night’s Watch support the Free Folk settling there in exchange for their promise they’d protect the land,  _ no one _ , and you just- without needing to take days to think about it, it just  _ came _ to you, you’re going to be  _ such a great King- _ ” Rickon took his face in his hands gently, frowning at him, and he caressed his cheek with his thumb, catching at the corner of Tommen’s eye.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Tommen held onto Rickon’s wrists, using the grip to ground himself, and shook his head a little.

“Nothing, it’s not- I’m fine, nothing’s happened.” Rickon sighed, thumb ghosting over the corner of Tommen’s mouth, and then tugged him closer so he could hug him, gently cradling the back of his head. Tommen turned his face into Rickon’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, and felt the stress that had suddenly slammed back into his chest while Rickon had spoken earlier seep out of him a little.

“You’re lying to me. Something’s happened, you wouldn’t be this worked up if it hadn’t.” Tommen shook his head again, before pausing and sighing, pressing his face a little harder against Rickon’s throat.

He could tell him...some, of what had happened.

Tommen was acutely aware of the chaos that would follow if he told Rickon everything that had happened between him and Loras in the woods, knew he couldn’t tell him the vast majority of what had occurred, but he could tell him some of it. Offer him the bigger picture, the cause.

“Loras knows. About the two of us, he saw us this morning.” He felt Rickon’s grip tighten on him, before the younger man relaxed slowly, and breathed out against his cheek.

“And he was less than pleased, I’m assuming.” Tommen swallowed, and nodded a little, replying softly.

“He still treats me like a child, and I hate it, especially now, when he talks like he knows so much better than I do, like I’m this naive infant in need of his guidance, but…” He sighed and moved so he could rest his forehead against Rickon’s and meet his eyes evenly.

“But he’s been my friend for years. For a time he was  _ all _ I had, and...and arguing with him doesn’t feel right. I always leave feeling like I need to apologise, even when I’ve done nothing wrong.” Rickon ran the knuckles of his right hand down Tommen’s spine in a gentle caress, and spoke carefully, as if to make sure Tommen didn’t respond badly to his words.

“That doesn’t sound healthy to me. You shouldn’t feel guilty about ever being angry with him; everyone fucks up, and in no friendship are all the problems one person’s fault.” Tommen held his eyes; and then let his slide shut, swallowed again. The silence stretched on for a long for a moment, easy and comforting, and Tommen sank slightly against the other man, smiling very briefly when Rickon moved to hold his waist.

Rickon spoke in a whisper, breath warm against Tommen’s lips.

“Were you and Loras sleeping together, before you came here?” Tommen squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gripped Rickon’s shoulders; and then let out a steadying breath before opening his eyes again.

He was aware of how reluctant he sounded when he spoke.

“We started when I was fifteen, after Daenerys and Margaery left. I ended things four years ago, have rejected his advances ever since, but...but yes, for a while we were sleeping together. Not consistently, and never exclusively, in Loras’ case at least, but. You deserve to know.” Tommen’s voice dropped to almost a whisper with the last words, and after a moment Rickon hummed softly, drawing thoughtful circles into the base of his spine with his thumb.

“That explains what Nibs meant, I suppose.” Tommen frowned at him, a question on his lips, but Rickon pressed in before he could voice it, kissed him soundly and swallowed the soft gasp it pulled out of him. Tommen wrapped his arms around his neck tightly, pressing against him while Rickon pressed his hands flat against his lower back, letting him lick into his mouth while Rickon carefully guided him back, past his ring of discarded letters until they reached the rough pallet set aside for Rickon to sleep on. 

Rickon coaxed him down into sitting on the edge, knelt between Tommen’s knees when the older man finally could only taste Rickon in his mouth; but when his fingers touched the laces on Tommen’s breaches he stopped him, caught his hands and swallowed thickly.

Rickon pulled back to study his face; and after a moment changed his grip so he could interlock their fingers.

“Tommen?” He asked gently, eyes soft and still concerned. Tommen swallowed back the wisp of panic that had crept up his throat when Rickon had tried to start undressing him, and forced an especially weak smile.

“Can you just- just hold me, for now? It’s what I need, I don’t want to- I just need you to hold onto me.” Rickon watched him a moment longer, before nodding and climbing up to kneel beside him on the pallet, wrapping his arms securely around Tommen’s waist and then laying them both down so they could curl up together, Rickon tangling their legs lazily while Tommen buried his face in the other man’s chest.

Rickon stroked his fingers through Tommen’s hair carefully, catching at the curls at the ends with his fingertips.

“You were happy this morning.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the top of Tommen’s head. Tommen nodded a little, and then sighed.

“I still am. Especially about this, us; I can’t remember the last time I was this happy. I just…” He swallowed, and Rickon hummed, tipping his chin up so they could lock eyes and stroking his cheek soothingly.

“You just think too much.” He murmured; and Tommen chanced a reluctant smile, before sighing into the kiss Rickon pressed to his lips.

His eyes slid shut, and he let Rickon kiss him until he’d relaxed into the pallet, practically melted against the blankets beneath them and the warmth of Rickon’s arm, and he hummed when Rickon pulled away, smiled under the kisses he pressed to his cheeks and the line of his jaw.

“Stop thinking for a while.” Rickon murmured, kissing just below his ear and then pulling back to meet his eyes, stroking the hair back out of his face.

“Get some sleep. I’ll stay here with you, and if anything important happens I’ll wake you up.” Tommen caught his hand, turned it so he could hold the back against his cheek, and watched Rickon closely.

“You promise you’ll be here when I wake up?” He asked in a murmur, shifting so he could press himself better against Rickon, soak up some of the warmth of him; and Rickon’s expression softened the moment before he nodded.

“Always.” He promised; and Tommen smiled, before letting his eyes shut and sinking against Rickon’s chest, sighing softly against him.

Too often he’d woken up to an empty bed while expecting otherwise. He trusted Rickon’s promise; and it meant sleep would come that much easier.

He smudged a soft kiss over Rickon’s heart before giving in, and falling asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh it's been a while. Who knew summers were busy??
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: discussion of rape, discussion of child abuse/rape of a minor, hints of PTSD, discussion of emotional abuse. This is a very heavy chapter which deals with very heavy themes; please, PLEASE be careful when reading this. I don't want to trigger anyone.

Tommen jerked awake with a gasp, unable to remember his dream but filled with panic at whatever it had been about, and grabbed for the hand running soothingly through his hair, gripping the fingers tightly and dragging in breaths in a desperate attempt to calm down.

It took him a long, panic-clouded moment to realise that he’d been moved while he was sleeping, that while he was still in Rickon’s tent and on his bed he was no longer curled up against his chest, was instead laid out with his head in someone’s lap; and he turned his head quickly to check who it was, before sighing and relaxing when he found Rickon staring down at him, pale eyes guarded.

He smiled weakly, embarrassment pulling at the corners of his mouth, but Rickon didn’t smile back, instead just gently squeezing his fingers and then going back to stroking through Tommen’s hair. Tommen’s smile faded, and he stared up at the other man; before speaking softly.

“Just ask, Rickon.” Rickon’s mouth tightened, and he spoke carefully, holding Tommen’s eyes.

“What happened with Loras when he confronted you about the two of us?” Tommen stared up at him, and then turned his face away, letting his eyes slide shut though he kept his fingers locked with Rickon’s, now soft at the back of his neck.

“You already know what happened.” His voice was a whisper, and he swallowed thickly before continuing.

“Vidia told you, or you made her tell you; either way you don’t need to hear it from me.” Rickon’s fingers tightened on his briefly, before he released him in favour of touching gently at the soft curls at the nape of Tommen’s neck, fingertips skimming round to caress the side of his throat gently. Tommen sighed a little, pressed his face better against the top of Rickon’s thigh when he gently squeezed his shoulder; and Rickon’s voice verged on pleading, as close as he’d probably ever get.

“I want to hear it from you. I want you to tell me what happened, Tommen, so I stop thinking over what Vidia told me and imagining the worst.” He tried to swallow again, to keep a firm grasp on himself, but his throat ached and his breath caught there in a painful lump as he tried to figure out how to really put what had transpired with Loras into words.

"...he kissed me. And he pushed me against a tree, and tried to put his hands on me, and so I punched him and ended our friendship." Rickon's hand tightened its grip on Tommen's shoulder, and he took a deep, steadying breath before speaking.

"Vidia said you accused him of trying to rape you." Tommen squeezed his eyes shut tighter, turned his face harder against Rickon's leg, taking a long moment before replying.

"I don't know for sure that he would have done so. I did at the time, I looked at him and I  _ knew _ that if I hadn't- if he'd not been- if he'd had the chance, he wouldn't have stopped. Not unless someone had made him. But now I'm not sure, I... I've forgiven Loras half a hundred things in the time that we've been friends, and I don't know if that's all this is, if I'm only doubting myself because it's become habit to do so, I just..." Tommen sighed, sank into Rickon's lap; and the younger man gently stroked along the smooth curve of his cheek, thumb catching at the corner of his mouth.

"Is that why you stopped me earlier? Because of what Loras did?" Tommen could hear the anger hiding in Rickon's voice, the barely restrained fury at what Loras had almost done, but beneath that was the tiniest thread of vulnerability, like concern that even for the barest moment Tommen had been scared Rickon would do to him what Loras had tried to.

Tommen pushed himself upright, and reached to take Rickon's face in his hands.

"I stopped you because if we have sex every time we're together I'll lose all ability to walk straight and we'll never get anything done." His words had their desired effect, and coaxed the tiniest smile onto Rickon's face; and he let out a breath, leaning in to rest their foreheads together, his eyes sliding shut.

He spoke very softly, while Rickon set his hands on his waist.

"Yes, I was frightened; but not of you. I trust you, Rickon, I know that you'd never hurt me like that. I was just...it was so soon after Loras, I was still thinking about it." Rickon nodded quickly, ducked in to press soft kisses across his cheeks.

"I know, Tommen you don't have to explain yourself. It's not your fault you were worried." Tommen made a soft, grateful noise against him, and Rickon tugged him closer so that he could cradle him against his chest. Tommen breathed him in, pressed his face against his throat and soaked in the warmth of him.

"You're so good to me; better than I'd have ever thought possible, and it's only been one day." Rickon ran his hand down Tommen's back, soothing away the lingering tension while he murmured absently against his cheek.

"Are the people you sleep with generally not good to you?" Tommen could feel his smile against his cheek, and he snorted softly.

"You stayed the night with me; Loras only ever did that accidentally, and never in the first few months after we started. That would be enough to shock, even without your giving me all these choices about what I want to do." Rickon's arms tightened around him, and he went very still before pulling back to study Tommen's face, suddenly serious again.

"Tommen how did your relationship with Loras begin?" Tommen blinked at him in surprise; and then frowned slightly.

"He came into my rooms the night after Margaery and Daenerys went back to Slaver's Bay. He asked me if I wanted him to help me stop mourning their loss, and I of course said yes, and...and he took my mind off them. Long enough that I was able to fall asleep, at least. And then after that he just kept coming back." Rickon stared at him, something Tommen couldn’t quite decipher brimming in his eyes, before reaching to take Tommen’s face in his hands and speak to him carefully, expression intent as he spoke, studying Tommen’s eyes.

“Did you ever tell him no and have him ignore you? When he entered your rooms, did you ever protest, and have him ignore you?”  Tommen opened his mouth, something like panic but thicker settling mostly in his stomach, growing in him at what he could feel Rickon was implying.

“No, I- nev-never consistently, I always, I-”

“Gave in. Because he was older or stronger or because you felt guilty saying no, or because you felt you owed him for protecting you.” Tommen’s hackles raised, and he glared at the other man.

“ _ No. _ I stopped because I never really meant it; because I was just, just nervous, or hurt because of the rumours about him and other men.” He could feel his voice weaken, could feel the confidence seep out of him, and his glare faded ever so slightly while he stared back at Rickon.

The youngest Stark boy’s expression was almost cold.

“Those don’t sound like your words.” Tommen swallowed, and Rickon asked another question, tone refusing any more excuses or arguments.

“Did you ever initiate things? Go to him first, seek him out or invite him back to your rooms?” He found himself opening his mouth again; and then shut it with a snap, looking away from Rickon’s eyes and the accusations he didn’t want to believe that were waiting in them.

“I- I tried, once. I went to his chamber, but he was- there was someone else there with him, a different- he was preoccupied.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper with the last words, and he felt sick, remembering Rickon pressing Lara against the tree a week ago - had it only been a week? - but he swallowed, banishing the taste of bile in his mouth and looking back at the other man.

Rickon’s hands were trembling even while they held Tommen’s face, and a black kind of fury was seeping into his eyes.

“So you never asked him to go into your rooms and to touch you, but he did anyway, and when you told him to stop he ignored you until you stopped protesting. And it started when you were fifteen years old.” Tommen stared at him for a moment, and when he spoke his voice came out as a whisper.

“You’re making it sound wrong.” Rickon gritted his teeth and snarled his response, hands shaking a little harder while he moved in to rest his forehead against Tommen’s to better hold his eyes.

“I’m making it sound like rape, because that’s what it  _ was _ . For  _ four years _ Loras  _ raped _ you on a regular basis, and he has somehow managed to convince you that it was a genuine relationship rather than abuse.” Tommen shook his head, felt tears flood his eyes and panic creep up his throat, and Rickon stroked his shoulders and down his arms soothingly, trying to help him keep control of his breathing even as he stammered out protests.

“No, no Loras would never- he’s been my friend since I was a child, almost like a brother to me, he’d never hurt me like that, Rickon  _ please _ -” Tommen cut himself off, gasping for breath, and Rickon pulled him into a tight hug, holding him close and murmuring against his cheek.

“Calm down. Calm down, and stop dragging up his excuses for what he’s done, because these aren’t coming from you. You know what people are like, you said yourself that you expect them to disappoint you, so why is Loras so different? Why are you trying to explain away what he’s done to you?” Tommen dragged in a steadying breath, shut his eyes tightly; before he stilled, something clicking in his head and an odd sort of numbness creeping through him. He pulled away from Rickon slowly, blinked up at him, and he heard the distance in his own, trembling voice when he spoke, felt the silent tears as they slid down his cheeks.

“When did I become someone people decided they could claim rights to? My mother thought she owned me, Joffrey saw me as his to torment, Loras...at some point Loras has decided that he has the right to touch me whenever he wants to. When did this happen to me, Rickon? When did I start letting people treat me like property?” His stared at the other man for a long moment, chest feeling especially hollow; and Rickon’s expression darkened before he ducked in to press a soft kiss to Tommen’s forehead.

“You don’t belong to anyone. You’re mine as I am yours but I don’t own you, and you don’t own me, and I’ll fix this. However it might have started I’ll fix it, and I’ll  _ end him _ .” Rickon swept off the crude bed, strode out of the tent; and for a long moment Tommen just sat by himself, the warmth of Rickon’s lips lingering on his forehead and his hands curled loosely in his lap.

Before what he’d said sank in, and his eyes widened.

Tommen launched to his feet, and sprinted after Rickon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this chapter - and the last one, which touches on the things discussed here ever so slightly - I sent it to a friend of mine who suffered sexual abuse when she was a child, and she assured me that I have handled this issue well here, that Tommen's reaction and his denial is realistic; but I understand that all experiences are different, and if you have an issue with how this subject is handled here please, please let me know. I am lucky enough not to be a survivor of this kind of abuse, and so really I am relying on those who know what it's like to not hurt or upset anyone by handling this wrong.
> 
> (If you ever want to talk about anything you've gone through, please feel free to send me a message on my tumblr; queertommen.tumblr.com. I am always here for my readers, whatever you need. <3 )


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last; updates. This is the last Official chapter; next is the epilogue, which will be posted in like.....two minutes. So.

“Rickon!” 

Tommen ducked around men and women as he chased after Rickon, sprinting along the path of almost-destruction he’d wrought while striding toward where Tommen’s escort was camped, Free Folk stood either side of the path and murmuring amongst themselves, concerned and confused. He dodged past an upturned brazier, caught sight of Vidia sprinting into his camp; and the moment he set foot in the clear space at the centre of the ring of tents, was treated to Rickon’s fist slamming into Loras’ face, and the sickening  _ crack _ that accompanied it.

Loras dropped with a hoarse scream, clutching at his nose while blood started to pour from it, and Rickon shook the hand he’d used absently, flexing his fingers and watching the writhing man with a cold expression.

“Get up.” He demanded; and Loras groaned dully, still clutching at his face, ignoring the order. The other members of Tommen's escort murmured amongst themselves, touching at their swords, but Tommen shook his head at them.

He wanted to see what Loras would do; and he didn't want to step in unless it was strictly necessary.

Rickon's hands shook at his sides.

"Get  _ up _ , you cowardly son of a bitch. I want you on your feet when I kill you." Loras glared up at him, and his eyes settled briefly on Tommen before sliding back to Rickon.

"Who do you think you're fooling, Stark?" In any other situation his voice would have been comical, warped by the blood in his throat and his inability to breathe through his nose, but any humour was lost as he started to taunt Rickon, talking up at him while he clutched his face.

"So he let you fuck him; you’ve not got the  _ honour _ of being the first, nor will you be the last. He’s said so himself, he doesn’t know  _ how  _ to let people love him; and all the Gods know you won’t stick around long enough for him to figure it out.” Rickon’s face twisted in a snarl, and he reached out to seize the front of Loras’ shirt, drag him to his feet; and then punched him again, sending him tumbling back onto the snow.

Rickon growled down at him, and Tommen saw Shaggydog move to stand behind him from the corner of his eye.

“You know  _ nothing _ about him, or me. And I am going to  _ kill you _ for what you did to him; so get. Up.” Loras laughed, the noise mostly a gurgle with the blood in his throat, and grinned up at Rickon through bloody teeth.

“They say if you take someone’s virginity they’re yours forever. He will  _ crawl _ back to me the moment we’re back in King’s Landing, perhaps even on the road if he’s that desperate; and all you’ll be able to do is sit in the ruins of your father’s castle and  _ burn _ with the knowledge that he’s  _ mine _ , and he  _ always will be _ .” Rickon stared down at him for a long moment, something cold and black and  _ terrifying _ spreading across his face, while Shaggydog growled quietly behind him; and when Tommen’s stomach tightened he knew this was his last chance, the last moment he’d have in which to stop Rickon making a terrible mistake.

He surged forward just as Rickon moved to seize a handful of Loras’ hair, drag him upright and pull free the knife sheathed at his belt, and he slid into the gap between the two men, facing Rickon and catching the forearm of his knife-wielding hand to stop him.

“No.” He ordered, voice sharp and clear and in that moment so very similar to that of Cersei Lannister that a couple of his other escort members shrank away from it, uncomfortable. Tommen held Rickon’s eyes steadily, tightened his grip on his arm when the other man tested his strength slightly; and when Rickon gritted his teeth, face darkening, Tommen didn’t flinch.

“Let me go.” He demanded, voice a low growl that sent unpleasant shivers down Tommen’s spine, but Tommen shook his head.

“No.” He repeated, his voice softening; and he moved his free hand to rest on the centre of Rickon’s chest, trying to calm him.

“Put it down, Rickon, please. He’s not worth the consequences.” Rickon snarled wordlessly and pushed at Tommen’s grip on him, the fingers of the hand buried in Loras’ hair tightening until the elder man yelped in pain, and he replied in a low voice, holding Tommen’s eyes.

“I’m going to kill him. You won’t stop me, I am  _ going to kill him _ .” Tommen pressed harder against his chest and frowned at him, ignoring the noises of pain coming from behind him. He made sure to keep his expression cold, hard; and when Rickon seemed to finally drink in how seriously he was regarding him he faltered a little, struck by the ice in Tommen’s voice.

“And how are you going to achieve that? Are you going to strike me to get to him, Rickon? Because that is the only way you will get me to move from this spot while you still threaten his life. I don’t care that you hit him; in all honesty I enjoyed watching it happen, because he deserves that and worse for the things he has done. But you  _ will not kill him. _ I will not let you.” Rickon stared at him, chest heaving and eyes hard, almost disbelieving; but he slowly lowered his arms, released Loras so the man slumped to the ground behind Tommen and then took a half step back, expression growing colder.

“If he lays a hand on you, I’ll only pause in ending his life long enough to break all of his fingers first.” He turned and strode away, back in the direction of his tent, hands shaking at his sides and his grip on his knife white-knuckled, and Tommen’s chest ached to watch him go, to let him leave without resolving things immediately, even out in the open where everyone could see them.

He had things to deal with before he could follow Rickon, however; and he glanced back at said ‘things’, swallowing before turning properly to face Loras.

His hands were trembling.

“Ser Loras, when we  _ do _ return to King's Landing - a journey we shouldn’t start for at least another week, if not a month - you will ride as far from me as possible. You are no longer my personal guard, you are no longer my friend; in fact upon reflection you were never really the later. All you are is a man who took advantage of my grief when I was still a child.” He cleared his throat and looked away; and Nibs met his eyes, nodding a little in encouragement.

Tommen drew strength from the look, and glanced back at his Kingsguard, voice dropping to almost a murmur, so only Loras could hear him.

“He is twice the man you ever were or will be. I would rather spend a week with him than a lifetime with you.” Loras stared up at him, before his expression sharpened, and he replied in a snarl.

“You’re going to get your heart broken, Tom-” 

Tommen kicked him in the face.

Loras’ head snapped back with the force of the kick, and he slumped back onto the snow, unconscious. It took only a moment for Tommen to see the steady rise and fall of his chest that meant he was still alive, that he hadn’t just created conflict between himself and Rickon only to turn around and do exactly what he’d forbidden Rickon from doing, and could therefore abort the starting panic in his chest; and he ran a hand down his face, sucking in a deep breath before turning to look at Nibs.

“Loras appears to have fallen over and hit his face on the ground. Repeatedly. Do you think you’d be able to get him to his tent and keep him confined there until he’s completely healed and able to be of use again?” Nibs arched an eyebrow at him, before snorting softly and starting forward, Vidia moving quietly to join him.

“You should have let Rickon kill him.” Nibs muttered, seizing Loras under his armpits; and Tommen sighed.

“I honestly wish that I could have done so.” He replied softly, before turning on his heel and starting after Rickon yet again.

Perhaps tomorrow he’d be free of problems caused by the Tyrell heir; perhaps he’d get his first stress free day since marching North.

One could only hope the Gods were that kind.

-

When he entered the tent, he found Rickon pacing across it.

The other man was spinning the knife in his hand by the ring set into the end of the handle, the movement restless and angry, and Tommen couldn’t help but stare for a moment before the spinning stopped, and Rickon spoke, his voice brimming with anger.

“Why didn’t you let me kill him?” He glanced at Tommen sharply but kept pacing, knuckles turning white around the knife handle, and Tommen swallowed before taking a step closer to him.

“Will you sit down, Rickon?” Rickon made a sharp, angry little scoff, and didn’t stop moving.

“ _ No _ . Why didn’t you let me  _ kill him? _ He should be  _ dead _ , I should have-” He cut himself off with a snarl, and Tommen took a deep breath before trying again.

“Rickon please, just- can you at least put down the knife, I-” Rickon cut over him, and his voice broke as it got louder, shifted into shouting while he turned to glare at Tommen.

“Not until you explain  _ why he is still breathing! _ He should be  _ dead, Tommen! _ ” Tommen swallowed but didn't reply, just held Rickon's eyes; and Rickon made a wordless,  _ furious _ noise, and threw the knife across the tent.

It embedded itself in a tent post behind Tommen with a  _ thump _ , making him flinch violently and shut his eyes, and the barest hint of actual fear, fear of Rickon and what he might do, crept into his chest before he could stifle it. He could feel his fingers shaking, clenched them into fists in an attempt to banish the tremors; and he listened as Rickon moved across the tent, trembled ever so slightly when the other man caught his face in his hands and pressed his mouth to his forehead, whispering against his skin.

"I'm sorry. Tommen I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I'm so sorry." He smudged kisses over the crown of Tommen's head, down to the bridge of his nose, across his cheek and jaw, and finally,  _ finally _ pressed a kiss to his lips; and Tommen sighed into it, catching his wrists and kissing him back.

Rickon's teeth nipped gently at his bottom lip, a silent question; and Tommen pulled back, just resting his forehead against Rickon's for a long moment.

Rickon spoke carefully.

"Tommen..." The older man shook his head and replied softly, eyes sliding open so they could meet Rickon's.

"I am not, have not been, and probably never will be angry with you, or truly scared of you. I am... _ grateful _ , I suppose, that you were so eager to defend my honour. Thankful. Going to have sweet dreams in which I replay the sight of your fist hitting his face over and over. But you can't kill him. A part of me wishes you could, a  _ large _ part of me wishes you could, but you can't." Rickon caressed Tommen's cheeks with his thumbs, rubbed down his arms soothingly; and he spoke quietly, murmured against the curve of his cheek.

"Why?" Tommen slumped a little with the breath that sighed out of him, and replied while Rickon wrapped a steadying arm around his waist.

"If you kill him, you'll start another war; and everything I have spent the last ten years building will be burnt to the ground, and the rest of Westeros with it." Rickon stiffened, before slowly relaxing and then speaking again, the protest in his tone subtle.

"If I kill him he'll be dead, and he won't be able to hurt you any more." Tommen sighed, eyes sliding shut for a moment, and pulled away from Rickon enough that he could frown at him properly, eyes soft.

"He's not just a man who hurt me though, Rickon. He's the heir to Highgarden, and if you kill him Olenna Tyrell will send every last soldier at her command to retrieve your head; and you'll fight back, because generally you want to keep your head where it is, firmly attached to your shoulders. And I..." He trailed off, and Rickon studied his face silently for a moment.

"And you?" He asked gently; and Tommen felt something in his chest snap the moment before he replied, all the breath rushing out of him.

There was only one answer, really.

"And I will fight for you. I would watch all of Westeros burn for you, even set it alight myself, and knowing that  _ terrifies _ me but doesn't stop it being true." He swallowed, and then caught hold of Rickon's shirt, holding onto him tightly.

"I am asking you not to make me destroy everything I've spend so long fixing.  _ Please _ . Loras isn’t worth it, not Westeros, and though I would give you  _ everything _ I don’t want to. Don’t ask it of me.” Rickon stared at him for a moment, before letting out a heavy breath and reaching to hold Tommen’s cheek, gently touching his thumb to under his eye.

“If he ever lays a hand on you again, I’ll cut his off; along with his favourite abusive extremity. He’ll still be a  _ living _ heir, but I should think he’ll be the last.” A helpless little bubble of laughter burst out of Tommen, and the barest smile pulled at the corners of Rickon’s mouth before he pulled Tommen to his chest, burying his face in his hair while the older man rested his cheek over his heart.

“I still don’t like it, even if I understand it.” Rickon whispered the words against the top of Tommen’s head, and Tommen snorted softly.

“Oh, neither do I. But that’s one of the drawbacks of being a decent King; you can’t go around killing whoever you want to, unfortunately.” He didn’t need to look up to see Rickon roll his eyes, grinned to himself and pressed it against the other man’s chest; but after a moment he pulled back a little, lifted his head so he could meet Rickon’s eyes, concern coiling in his chest.

“Do you think less of me? Because of what Loras did?” His voice was soft, as vulnerable as he’d ever allow himself to be, and Rickon’s eyes softened the moment before he pressed in to kiss him, seized his hips and lifted him so Tommen wrapped his legs securely around his waist and then pressed in to kiss him back, clinging to his shoulders and licking into his mouth desperately. 

Rickon carried him over to the bed, laid him down on it and kissed down at Tommen until he was gasping; and he hissed softly when Tommen pushed cold hands under his shirt, growled when he dragged his nails down his back and then ducked forward to bite lightly at the crease of Tommen's throat so his breath stuttered.

" _ Never. _ " He promised into the soft skin, and then pulled back to hold Tommen's eyes.

The knuckles he dragged over the side of his face were gentle, and he studied Tommen's eyes as he continued.

"I wish you'd never had to go through that, that I could have stopped it somehow; but that doesn't mean I think you're broken, or damaged. You're not, you're still you; still mine. The only thing this has changed is my opinion of  _ him _ , and it was never that high to start with." Tommen let out a breath that felt mostly like relief, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth and hesitating before speaking.

"I won't try to make excuses for him; never again. But...but I don't think it's entirely Loras' fault he's the way that he is. There's a part of him that's...broken." Rickon sighed and caught his bottom lip with his fingertips gently.

"You think the part of him that understands how to love people broke when Renly Baratheon died. Yes, I know." Tommen frowned back at him, but Rickon just held his eyes, expression patient, until Tommen's expression cleared in surprise.

He took a moment before speaking.

"Is there a little Warg in you, Rickon Stark?" Rickon's mouth curled up at the corner, and he pushed his fingers back through Tommen's hair.

"A little. It comes and goes, I can't control it; only saw part of what Shaggydog did, and then it was after it had actually happened, when we were sleeping." Tommen's eyes softened, and he took Rickon's face in his hands.

"You shouldn't have had to see that." He murmured; and Rickon dropped to rest their foreheads together, speaking softly.

"I needed to. You needed me to have seen that; otherwise I never would have known what was going on, and it would probably have continued." Tommen let out a breath and shut his eyes, unable to argue - because Rickon was infuriatingly correct - and instead settled for pushing his fingers into Rickon's hair so he could ground himself, humming quietly when Rickon pressed his face against his collarbone.

"Can we stop talking about it?" He asked the question very softly, and Rickon nodded his head before pulling back, so that when Tommen opened his eyes he was leaning over him, eyes intent.

He touched thoughtfully at the ties on Tommen’s shirt, moved to curl his fingers around the side of his neck and gently caress his jaw in tiny circles, and then pressed in to kiss him softly, just a chaste press of his lips against Tommen’s. The blonde man hummed into the kiss, parted his lips to it so Rickon could slip his tongue into his mouth while he wound his arms around his shoulders; and when Rickon pulled the ties of his shirt free he sighed a little, arched into his touch and caught his fingers in his hair.

“ _ Rickon _ .” He breathed, turning his face into his hair while the other man dragged his mouth across his collarbones, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across his skin, and Rickon groaned softly against him, pushed open the sides of his shirt and dragged the flat of his tongue over one of Tommen’s nipples before moving to bite gently at the lobe of his ear, smoothing the palms of his hands up Tommen’s chest and murmuring into his ear, voice a little rough.

“I love you.” Tommen went still, eyes snapping open where they’d slid shut under the pressure of Rickon’s mouth; and Rickon kissed softly at his jaw, at the side of his throat and along his collarbone before speaking quietly against his skin.

“You’re mine, I stole you, and I love you. I would reduce everything to dust to keep you safe, because I _love_ _you_ , and I will never let _anyone_ hurt someone I love again.” Tommen’s breath hitched, and when Rickon lifted his head to meet his eyes he stared up at him, opened his mouth only to shut it and swallow thickly; and Rickon pressed in to kiss him softly, before pulling back to continue.

“You don’t have to say it back. It’s okay if you’re not sure how you feel, if you just want-” Tommen cut him off, voice almost a whisper, eyes flicking over his face.

“I want  _ you _ .That’s all I want,  _ always _ . I wasn’t lying when I said I’d watch Westeros burn for you, Rickon Stark; and I don’t make statements like that for anyone. Maybe I can’t…” He swallowed, reached up to drag his knuckles down Rickon’s shoulders and then brace his hands on his chest.

“Maybe I can’t say that back yet, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel that way about you. It doesn’t mean you’re not  _ everything _ .” All the breath seemed to rush out of Rickon, and he dropped his head so his forehead rested against Tommen’s collarbone.

“Say that again.” He mumbled the words into the skin over Tommen’s heart, and the other man laughed softly, stroked his fingers through his hair and took a moment to just soak him in before speaking very softly.

“Promise me that every issue we encounter will end like this. That we’ll never spend days or even hours apart because of something like this.” He could feel the unintended weight behind his words, the thickness that promised there would be more bumps - not the least being when they finally addressed the ever-present threat of their parting ways when the treaty was finished - but Rickon seemingly brushed it off, kissed his chest softly before moving to meet his eyes again.

“I can’t  _ promise _ ; I can’t even promise you this is over, that I won’t go after that son of a bitch again if he looks at you wrong or makes another comment. But I will try. For  _ you _ , I will try not to murder anyone, and I will listen better, and without throwing things first.” Tommen rolled his eyes, but smiled as Rickon had obviously intended; and Rickon grinned back, before kissing him, biting playfully at his bottom lip and humming as he skimmed his lips across his cheek.

“In love with a Lannister. Six year old me is disgusted.” Tommen snorted, and caught Rickon’s face so he could pull him back to lock their lips together.

“My parents and grandfather are all rolling in their graves; makes the whole thing rather poetic, really.” He muttered the words against Rickon’s mouth dryly. Rickon let out a sharp bark of laughter, and Tommen joined in, his laughter soft and breathless before it was stifled by a hard, consuming kiss.

“Let’s make them roll a little harder.” Rickon almost purred, moving a hand to the laces on Tommen’s breeches; and Tommen nodded quickly, gasping a little.

“Yes. Yes, we can work on restraint and getting work done tomorrow.” Rickon’s grin widened, and he bit at Tommen’s bottom lip again.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this epilogue, we come to an end. At long, LONG last. I hope you've all enjoyed this!

Tommen paused halfway through tying his shirt closed - a fresh one, Rickon’s, one not tainted by the memory of Loras - and glanced back at the bed when its occupant made a soft, puzzled little noise. His expression softened as he watched Rickon reach across the furs, searching for him instinctively; and he dropped to his knees beside the pallet, pressing his mouth lightly to his shoulder and gently smoothing the palm of his hand down the bare expanse of his back. When Rickon made a pleased sound low in his throat he smiled, and stretched to kiss his cheek softly.

“I won’t be long.” He promised quietly, nosing at Rickon’s hair and at the shell of his ear, and he sighed a little regretfully before pulling away to finish with his shirt and tug on his boots, lacing them tightly.

Shaggydog padded into the tent just as he finished, catching his attention halfway through reaching for his gloves. Tommen and the Direwolf regarded one another silently for a moment, before Shaggydog let out a soft chuff; and Tommen grinned a little, holding out a hand for the creature to move closer and snuffle at his fingers.

“I can’t tell you anything any more, can I?” He observed softly, smiling wryly and scratching his fingers around Shaggydog’s ears. The huge wolf hummed, pressing into the attention, and Tommen snorted softly, carded his fingers through his ruff.

“Rickon could find out any number of secrets I might tell you, and where would that leave me? Without my severely limited sense of mystery and allure, at least.” Shaggydog made an amused little chuffing noise, butting his nose against Tommen's chest, and Tommen grinned at him.

"Okay, my non-existent sense of mystery and allure. Can't get anything by you, I see." The Direwolf hummed in agreement; and Tommen’s smile softened, before he pressed his face to Shaggydog’s fur, inhaling the musky scent of him.

For a moment he just knelt there, measuring the huge wolf’s breathing.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Shaggydog. I wish Rickon had never seen that, but thank you. I still don’t know what would have happened if you’d not, but either way I’d never have managed to be free of him without you, without Rickon finding out what was going on.” The Direwolf hummed against him, nudged him gently with his snout, and Tommen smiled before scrubbing his fingers through the fur around his ears so his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

“Keep an eye on him for me.” He asked in a whisper, before pushing to his feet and making for the tent flap, pausing just for a moment to glance back at the sleeping man on the bed before he stepped outside.

Nibs was waiting for him, just as he’d expected.

The older man followed Tommen as he moved away from Rickon’s tent, remaining thankfully silent until they were what Tommen judged to be an acceptable distance from the tent and its inhabitant, but the moment Tommen turned back to face him he spoke up, voice sharp with hurt and frustration.

“You should have told me. As soon as it started you should have  _ told me _ , Tommen. If I’d known you’d only been a child when it began, that it had started so soon after you said goodbye to Margaery, I would have- I’d have-” Nibs made a wordless noise of anger, and Tommen winced slightly, letting out a breath before stepping closer.

“I didn’t know how, didn’t even- at that point I was closer to Loras than to you, it never occurred to me that I should tell anyone when he was the one who was...was leading things, I suppose. I trusted him.” The laugh that slipped out of Nibs was furious, and he pushed fingers back through his hair, starting to pace.

“But I should have  _ seen it _ . I should have seen that something had changed, that something was  _ wrong _ .” Tommen’s chest ached as he watched his friend continue to pace, and he reached for him weakly.

“Even I didn’t know it was wrong, Nibs, there was nothing for you to  _ see _ -” Nibs cut him off, turning to face him while his voice thickened, dark eyes glistening with what Tommen could tell, the knowledge sinking through him, sitting in his stomach like a weight, were angry and frustrated tears.

“I still should have  _ known _ . You were a  _ child _ , and I- I  _ promised _ that I’d take care of you, when I got you out of Stannis’ dungeons I swore I’d never let you be hurt again, I promised  _ Daenerys _ , and  _ Margaery _ , I promised your  _ sister _ \- I should have KNOWN!” His voice cracked, broke as the volume tipped up, and Tommen closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Nibs tightly and resting his chin on his shoulder, hugging the other man while he shook violently and clung to him in return.

“It’s not your fault.” Tommen whispered; and Nibs shook again, tightened his grip on him.

“No one knew what Loras had turned into after he lost Renly, even  _ I _ didn’t realise what actually happened between us until Rickon figured it out, until he tried again after seeing me with Rickon. It went on for four years and I still had no idea Loras was- was r- that he was hurting me. You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your  _ place _ to know, Nibs, no one ever asked you to keep track of my sex life.” Nibs cradled the back of Tommen’s head, and for a moment he remembered when Nibs had rescued him, when he’d carried him out of the storm drains in Dragonstone, held him in exactly the same way; as if he was a baby, tiny and fragile. Nibs’ voice was almost as small when he replied.

“If it wasn’t my place to know then whose was it? Your mother was gone, Myrcella had her own children, Loras was the one hurting you in the  _ first place _ ; I was the only one left to take care of you Tommen. I should have  _ seen it _ .” Tommen hugged him tighter, and swallowed before replying, keeping his voice soft and an approximation of comforting.

“It was mine. I was the one who should have realised what was happening.” The response was almost a snarl, and Nibs pulled back sharply, catching Tommen’s chin in a hand and frowning at him.

“ _ None of this _ was your fault. You were fifteen, a  _ child _ , and you were grieving for your lost friends; even if you weren’t it wouldn’t have been your fault. The only person to blame is Loras, he was the one who hurt you, he should have known better, should have  _ been _ better; he should never have manipulated you into that farce of a relationship with him in the first place.” The words hissed out of Nibs, and for a moment Tommen considered that he should have been watching more than just Rickon around the Tyrell heir; but he just held Nibs’ eyes, watched the realisation seep into his expression before he sighed, shoulders slumping while he released Tommen’s chin.

“And it’s not my fault either.” He accepted quietly, tone of voice reluctant. Tommen nodded, before letting out a breath and pushing back in to hug Nibs again.

Nibs caught him, and held onto him tightly.

"You understand that you're more than just my friend or my  _ charge _ , right? You're the closest thing to a little brother I've ever known." Tommen laughed a little shakily, and pulled back, regarding his friend with a wry smile.

"The only brother I've ever known is Joffrey; I don't think that word has the same connotations for me as it does you." Nibs rolled his eyes, but clapped a hand down on Tommen's shoulder and met his gaze carefully.

"If you ever have doubts again, about  _ anything _ , tell me, Tommen. Come to me and let me either fix it or ease your mind. I can do more than fend off the hoards of assassins sent after you; I  _ want _ to do more." Tommen nodded, smiling slightly, before making a vague, one-handed gesture while he felt heat creep down his chest.

"I don't think you need to worry much right now. I trust Rickon." Nibs' expression hardened ever so slightly, and Tommen stifled his sigh.

"It wasn't his fault." He stated quietly; and Nibs made a noise that neither agreed nor disagreed with him just as the snow crunched behind Tommen, a recognisable signal that someone was approaching. Tommen turned, felt his face soften as he watched Rickon's approach, and the younger man caught his hand when he reached for him, squeezed his fingers gently.

Tommen read the question in the gentle touch, smiled slightly and ducked his head in a slight nod, and when he glanced back at Nibs the Dornishman was regarding him with a thoughtful frown, touching at the knife sheathed at his belt as he visibly ordered his thoughts.

After a moment he cleared his throat and shook his head a little as if to clear it.

"I should get back to our camp. When I left the other men were in the midst of a debate over lynching verses liberation, and neither are appealing ends for Ser Loras." Tommen nodded quickly, and Nibs offered him an amused smile before gently squeezing his shoulder in farewell and walking away, back toward the clamour of camp.

All the breath rushed out of Tommen, and he sank against Rickon when the other man moved up behind him, wrapping loose arms around his waist.

"Did that go well?" Rickon asked, voice soft but warm against the shell of Tommen's ear; and Tommen sighed, laughed a little before turning in Rickon's grip so they were chest to chest.

"Better than I thought it would." He allowed, settling his hands on Rickon's shoulders and smiling at him weakly.

"He doesn't trust you, though; not with me. I doubt he'll ever trust anyone with me again, but he has more reasons to distrust you." Rickon hummed, indicating that he'd understood and accepted Tommen's point, and held him a little tighter.

"I've faced worse things than Nibs' distrust." He offered; and Tommen's smile widened into a grin. Rickon ducked in to taste the expression, caught Tommen's bottom lip with his teeth and tugged gently so the other man let out a breathless little laugh, and he pressed soft, consuming kisses to Tommen's lips between each word as he spoke.

"Have I apologised for that yet? For letting you leave, for not following you, for hurting you enough that you walked into a snowstorm?" Tommen hummed under the pressure of his mouth, returned the kisses before catching Rickon's shoulders and pulling back enough to meet his eyes.

"That was my fault as much as it was yours. You were right, you never promised me anything, and I'm supposed to be an adult; I should have known better." Rickon made a vague noise in the back of his throat, expression disgruntled, and pressed in to kiss him again before just pulling him into a hug, holding him tightly against his chest.

Tommen startled slightly when he felt something cold and wet touch the back of his hand where it was resting in the subtle curve of Rickon's spine, before breaking into a warm smile when he found that Shaggydog had joined them, was watching them and nosing gently at Tommen's hand.

"Will you hunt with us today, love?" Tommen shivered, both at the play of Rickon's warm breath against his throat and the pet name; and then sighed under the warm, wet kiss he pressed to his pulse point, nodding a little weakly.

"Yes. Today I'll hunt with you." Rickon was grinning when he pulled away, and Tommen smiled back at him before letting himself be led toward the wood, Rickon's fingers locked with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's a wrap!  
> This is the first multi-chaptered fanfiction I have ever finished, and honestly I'm proud as fuck of it.  
> The intention is for there to be two more parts, but I will not even start posting the next part until I have finished writing it out in its Google Doc. I'd say keep your eyes peeled, but also be wary that it may not happen for a long ass time, and I am currently finishing my dissertation!  
> Let me know if you enjoyed this, though. Comments and people talking to me will make me SO MUCH MORE ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT WRITING MORE. I cannot stress enough how important comments are for fic.  
> But this is the end of I Turn To Wax (And Melt Like This). It's been a wild ride.

**Author's Note:**

> **Each chapter will have it's own warnings, so keep eyes open for that in the future.  
> **
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> **The rating WILL go up.  
> **  
>  **Chapters will be added weekly, unless you convince me to do so faster.  
> **
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> **Please leave comment and kudos to let me know if you're enjoying it so far!**


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